


I Remember You

by NicciCrowe



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Some Dubcon elements, i have no control over this fic, if rhysand hadn't left feyre to her own devices, must i say more, sexy rhys is sexy, this fic controls me, this has now turned into a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicciCrowe/pseuds/NicciCrowe
Summary: Feyre doesn't make it as far from the dark stranger on Calanmai as she originally did.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 400
Kudos: 400





	1. Fire Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so like I low-key made a spotify playlist for this fic 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hYQuRV5blG4MkN0Rb8CLw?si=tqqg7XwlRl-ylhzaXvi9kg
> 
> pls enjoy

_Stay in your chamber._

I chanted the directive to myself over and over, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms as I paced back and forth, unable to stop the trembling in my shoulders.

_Stay in your chamber._

But a wild, wicked voice weaving in between the drum beats whispered otherwise. _Come_ , that voice said, tugging at me like there was a string above my navel, pulling me forward. _Come to me._

By ten o’ clock, I could no longer stand it. I followed the drums.

I crept into the stables which were blessedly empty. Tamlin had taught me how to ride bareback these past few weeks, and soon enough I was trotting briskly through the woods towards the bonfires. I didn’t need to guide the mare, it seemed she, too, was drawn to the gathering fae.

Smoke and the metallic tang of magic hung thickly in the air, and I felt my heart beat a wild staccato in my chest. I gaped as I finally approached the giant bonfire atop the hill. There were hundreds of High Fae milling about, some were dancing lasciviously against each other to the beat of the drums. 

I couldn’t discern any features, so I hoped that I would slip by unnoticed. There were fae here with no masks, so I knew more than just Spring Court had arrived for the festivities. When I tried to focus on them, however, their features seemed to blur and become smoke and colour. They only became clear in the peripherals of my vision, and I made sure not to focus on one for too long, if only to keep myself from becoming too disoriented.

It must have been some sort of glamour the fae wore, to keep prying eyes away from them. I felt queasy knowing just how susceptible to magic I was. 

I dismounted my mare, keeping close to her as I made my way through the crowd. I shivered as fae brushed against me, praying that the smoke and myriad scents of all the High Fae would do enough to mask my very human scent. My hand drifted down to touch the two knives I kept hidden at my sides, a steady comfort as I pushed my way through the press of bodies.

The faeries all seemed to be flocking to one side of the hill, away from the drummers. Confused, I tied my mare to a solitary tree near the gathering, and followed them. I could feel the pounding of the drums in my chest, reverberating through the ground and the soles of my feet. Not one faerie noticed me, and I felt a thrill of triumph. 

I almost slipped on my way down the grassy knoll towards the hollow. A cave opened into a soft hillside, its exterior had been adorned with swirling garlands of lilies, branches, and leaves. I could just make out a pelt covered floor, but whatever was occurring inside the cave that was clearly the draw of this event was hidden by a bend in the cavern. 

I watched the High Fae gathered along the path leading to the cave swaying in place to the beat of the drums. I’d been banned from this? It hardly seemed fair when it was just a party. I scanned the hillsides, trying to see through the smoke hanging thick in the air, but couldn’t find anything of interest. 

Suppressing a sigh, I headed back up the hill, glad that none of the Fae paid me any heed as I went the opposite way of the crowd. 

Just as I was working up the courage to ask one of the bird-masked servants like Alis moving about, a hand grasped my upper arm roughly and whirled me around. 

I blinked at the three strangers before me, dumbfounded by their sharp features which were unobscured by any masks. They looked like High Fae, but there was something distinctly different about them that didn’t settle well in my gut. Their pitch-black eyes were cruel and depthless. 

“What do you want?” I demanded, trying to tug my arm back from the leader, who had a sneer curling his lip. 

“A human woman? It’s been a very long time since we’ve seen your kind… yes…” I got a glimpse of pointed teeth as he grinned without humour, those black eyes trailing over my body. 

“Let go of me,” I hissed, feeling my heartrate beginning to pick up. No one knew I was here. Who even knew where Tamlin was, and he’d said to avoid him at all costs tonight. 

I was utterly alone. 

The fae seemed to realize that the same time I did, as the two flanking the leader smiled. One grabbed for my other arm while the other took a knife from my hip while I struggled against their grasp. I glanced around wildly, trying to find someone, anyone to intervene, but none of the Fae at the bonfire were watching. 

I cried out for help, redoubling my efforts to get free. Would anyone hear? Would anyone care? Had I used up all my luck against the naga? Gods, how stupid was I to leave my room. Stupid, _stupid._

“Leave me alone,” I growled, aiming a kick for the crotch of one of the faeries, but he stepped deftly out of my reach. I realized then how easily they had closed me off from the other fae, and how dangerously close to the edge of the forest I had come. Out of the firelight in the darkness, no one would see where they’d taken me… 

“A bold request from a human on Calanmai,” said the one holding my left arm, leaning in close to breathe deeply near my pulse. The fires didn’t reflect in his eyes. They seemed to sap all of the light that touched them. “Once the Rite’s performed all the rest of us get to create our own little magic. We’ll get to have some real fun then, won’t we?” he chuckled darkly, his nails digging painfully into the soft skin of my inner arm. 

“Get your filthy hands off me,” I bit out, my mind whirling a thousand miles a minute, trying to come up with something, anything to get me out of this situation, but I was coming up hopelessly blank. 

The one holding my right arm trailed a hand down my side, his bony fingers digging into my ribs painfully. I tried to jerk back, but slammed right into the third who I hadn’t realized had sidled around behind me. He wove his fingers through my hair tugging back painfully until my chin tilted up, exposing my throat to the others. 

“Stop,” I begged, but it was a strangled gasp in the position they held me in. I stumbled as they began to herd me further into the treeline, into the darkness. I pushed, thrashing against them wildly as my options swiftly ran out. I couldn’t let them get me alone. I couldn’t _—_

I gave a sharp cry as they shoved me forward and I stumbled on a hidden tree root, my momentum too much to stop before I was pitching towards the ground, but the anticipated pain of the fall never came.

Strong, broad hands caught me. They were warm, unlike the hands of the fae who had been roughly manhandling me. I noticed they had fallen completely silent as the one who caught me gently hauled me up to a standing position.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” a deep, sensual male voice said. I had never in my life heard such a voice. 

I darted a wary glance back towards the three fae who were standing stock-still, looking as though they’d seen a ghost. I was still bracing for a fight, my hands trembling as I went for the other knife they hadn’t deprived me of. My would-be saviour stepped up next to me, slinging a casual arm around my shoulders.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” he said, and his tone would have been polished if not for the dark current of promised violence running through it. The three fae paled even further. “You should move along now, the Rite is just about to start.” The stranger had barely finished before the fae were scuttling back, disappearing back into the crowd.

I realized I had been leaning slightly into the warmth of the stranger, and disconcerted I stepped back, turning to view him fully, wary again. 

I almost fell back when I got my first full look at him, because standing before me was the most beautiful male I had ever seen.

Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and an almost cocky ease. High Fae, without a doubt. His short black hair was slightly tousled, and gleamed like a raven’s feathers. The shock of his hair was offset by his pale skin, and his eyes looked almost violet in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me gaping at him. 

For a moment we didn’t say anything, just stared at each other. I felt strange, like I had met him before, but for the life of me I couldn’t imagine where or when. He wasn’t wearing a mask, so he wasn't from the Spring Court. So when? 

Thank you seemed like paltry words for what he’d obviously saved me from. My mouth felt dry, and maybe it was just the night around us but there was something in the way he held himself in absolute stillness, utterly content to let his eyes rove over my face that made me feel off-balance and uneasy, like I should be running the other way. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that I knew him, knew the particular thrum of his presence, but every time I tried to chase the feeling it would skitter away. I cleared my throat, trying to swallow around the dryness. 

“I… thank you,” I muttered, hating the way my voice sounded raspy and weak in front of his dark presence. 

A half-smile played on his lips. “What’s a mortal woman doing here on Fire Night? Surely you should be staying out of trouble tonight of all nights.” I fought a shiver as the dark timbre of his voice, a lover’s purr washed through me. It seemed to caress every muscle, bone, and nerve ending inside of me, settling against my skin like a caress. 

“My friends brought me,” I lied poorly, waving vaguely towards the bonfire. 

The drumming was increasing in tempo, sending my heart pounding as it seemed to ratchet up the temperature around us. A strange thrill raced through me, curling low in my abdomen. I couldn’t look away from his face. I chalked it up to the fact that it had been so long since I had seen an even vaguely human-looking face without a mask. His clothes, all finely made and as dark as his hair were cut close enough to his body that I could easily see the magnificence of his build. He looked like he’d been molded by the night itself, like shadows danced and caressed him as their god.

 _Stop it_ , I hissed at myself, trying to drag my thoughts out of the gutter.

“And who are your friends?” he murmured, stepping closer to me so that I had to tilt my head back to see him fully. He was still smiling, and I wondered suddenly if I hadn’t stepped right out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

“Ladies,” I gasped out, my tongue darting out to wet my desperately dry lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, a predator assessing prey. 

Oh, gods. It was so hot suddenly, like we were right next to the giant bonfire instead of across the clearing from it. My heartbeat thrummed in my throat, making my head swim in the incessant heat washing over my body. The drums seemed to weave through my mind, pounding through every inch of my skin, muddling my thoughts. The lines around him seemed to pulse and writhe, like tendrils of star-kissed night trailed from him.

“Their names?” His voice was a dark growl, and I gritted my teeth as it trailed over my senses, my mind going utterly blank. Whose names? What were we talking about?

It looked like there were stars in his eyes.

“I…” I stammered, taking another step back, but my back met with a tree, and my heart rate doubled.

“Strange… for a mortal to be with faerie friends, and on Calanmai no less.” He stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth from his body wash against me. “I thought mortals were supposed to be frightened of us?” he mused, reaching up and trailing a finger from my cheek down to the line of my throat until it rested against my fluttering pulse, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “And for that matter, aren’t humans supposed to stay on their side of the wall?” He leaned in, trailing his nose along my jaw, and I gave an involuntary shudder. I was frightened of him, or at least that’s what I was frantically telling myself as I trembled in his grasp. 

What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I running? Why was I letting this dark male, someone I had no idea who he was touch me? 

The drumbeats sped up, reaching towards a climax I didn’t understand and I gasped as he stepped forward again, his torso flush against mine now. Primal heat pounded through me, with each beat of the drums, muddling my thoughts. 

“You’re not Spring Court,” I blurted out, the only coherent thought my mind could land on. A low, dark chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and he pulled back, tilting my chin up so that I couldn’t escape the entrancing depths of his eyes.

“Do I look like Spring Court?” He gave a lazy smile as his thumb traced slowly over my bottom lip. I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they’d crack as a second later he brought it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste. No, he most certainly was not Spring Court, but if he wasn’t, then what was he?

“Then why are you here?” I blurted out, cursing myself for continuing the conversation even though something inside of me wanted to know more.

The remarkable male’s eyes seemed to glow with mischief tinged with a healthy amount of danger. “Because all the monsters have been let out of their cages tonight, no matter what court they belong to. So I may roam wherever I wish until dawn.”

A chill snaked down my spine, but his words snagged on my mind. A cage? What did he mean?

Just then, a howl rose up from the fae down the hill, and a wild light seemed to gleam in the stranger’s eyes. The tang of magic in the air rose, thrumming like a living heartbeat against my skin.

“You need to leave. Now,” he gritted out, a flush seeming to mount his pale cheekbones as a muscle twitched in his jaw. I watched as his nostrils flared, no doubt scenting every burning, feral need raging through my body.

“Why?” I breathed, wondering if being parted from him now would leave me cold. Everywhere he touched me zinged with pleasure and heat. I breathed deeply, his scent seeming to wrap around me. Bergamot and something wild and sharp, like crashing waves. It was intoxicating.

“For one, I don’t think I would appreciate the partaker of this Rite getting his claws in you if the magic so chooses, and second…” the stars in his eyes seemed to flare brighter, drawing me in. I realized I had swayed towards him, and his arms had come around me, almost completely supporting my weight as my fingers curled around his shoulders. “Once the magic of the Rite releases, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you,” he growled, and as if to demonstrate his hands splayed across my lower back, pressing me closer to him.

Just then the magic zinging against my skin dialed up, and heady chanting started up from the gathered fae away down the hill. The male groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he pressed me back against the tree. The firelight flickered and dimmed, as if a curtain of night had fallen over us, hiding us away in the darkness.

“What is your name?” he murmured into my skin, scraping his slightly elongated canines against my skin. I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips, my back arching slightly. Lightning arced across my skin straight down my spine until it heated my core, like there was a line directly leading there from my neck.

“F-Feyre,” I gasped, shuddering as I tilted my chin, allowing him more access to my throat. I had lost my mind, I decided. I was practically inviting death giving a full-blooded Fae male access to my throat, but with the spell the drums were weaving I could hardly find it in myself to care.

“Feyre… _Feyre…_ ” he groaned into my skin, his fingers digging into my hips where his hands had come to rest. “You just keep tormenting me, don’t you?” He huffed a dark laugh, nipping the skin of my jaw lightly before grasping it within his fingers, turning my chin so our eyes met again. 

We were utterly alone in the veil of darkness that had covered us, the only light a ruddy, flickering glow from the bonfire. I watched the stars swirl in his eyes, the heady beat of the drums pulsing in my head, my chest, the need they created almost unbearable. A siren call. 

He pressed my head back against the tree, moving forward so that his thigh came between my knees, and I whimpered, my hips twitching forward without my bidding. His eyes were dark flames locked on mine as his hand that was still clamped on my hip pulled me towards him, notching my core tighter against the broad, hard expanse of his thigh. 

“Oh…” I gasped, my lips parting at the delicious friction it created. Every thought left my head as heat speared through my core, throbbing in my clit. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched me with a singular focus that made my knees tremble weakly. His hand on my hip pressed down, pulling me forward so that another stab of pleasure washed through me and it took everything I had not to cry out at the sensation. 

In time with the primal, heady beat of the drums, he began pulling my hips against him, and I couldn’t contain my whimpers and cries now as the pleasure built. I writhed atop him, unable to tear my eyes from his if I wanted. He held me in his gaze, the wild need there raging like an inferno as he pressed his thigh harder against me as he helped me grind against him. Again. Again.

I felt myself racing towards the peak of my pleasure, and I moaned, rubbing my chest against his torso, reveling in the fiery pleasure it raked across my nipples. I hardly cared that I had no idea who he was, that he was a complete stranger and I was here in his arms surrounded by darkness. The pleasure was too addictive. I wanted more. More. Harder. I wanted to be completely and utterly surrounded by him, filled with him. I wanted to lose all sense of myself, where I began and he stopped. The drums demanded it. They sang the beat of my desire in my blood, filling my head with the desperate need for more. For him.

I think I begged him at one point, and he bared his teeth at me, his fingers digging almost painfully into my hip as he ground the hard length of his desire against my abdomen, pressing his thigh harder into my clit.

“Come for me, Feyre. I want to feel you come for me,” he growled, his hips thrusting against mine as he pressed me harder against the tree. 

“Please,” I sobbed brokenly, my nails scrabbling uselessly against his shoulders.

With a snarl, I felt his teeth sink into the junction of my shoulder and neck, and I exploded, crying out brokenly as ecstasy washed through me like a wildfire. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My entire world narrowed, zeroing in on the feel of his lips and teeth against my skin. My hips stuttered against his, prolonging the pleasure with bursting fireworks every time I moved, utterly destroying me.

“Fuck,” he panted in my ear, gripping me tightly as he held me there, helping me ride out my release. “So beautiful. So perfect when you come for me… Feyre…”

I felt a warm tingling where he had bit me, and I moaned wantonly, unable to stop my trembling as I tried to catch my breath. The drums were still pounding through my head, muddling my thoughts even further as I shuddered through the last of my earth-shattering release. I could already feel the pulsing heat of my need beginning to curl deep in my abdomen again, begging for more. What was happening to me?

“I’m sorry, Feyre darling,” he murmured in my ear, brushing his lips against my skin, and I didn’t even have the chance to blink before blessed darkness enveloped me, and I knew no more.

-

I came awake just as dawn’s rosy fingers were spreading across the sky, feeling a pounding headache settle behind my eyes. I groaned as I shifted, feeling a hard protrusion pressing rudely into my shoulder blade, and I cracked an eyelid, glaring at the offending root. 

Wait, what? 

I pushed myself up, groaning as my muscles protested after a long, stiff night laying against the ground. How did I end up outside? Hadn’t I gone to bed…

I gasped as memories came flooding back, and my face heated up until I knew it was probably blazing red.

I cursed whatever gods there were as I scrambled up, my hands passing wildly over my body as I checked for anything out of place. Aside from a little telling soreness between my thighs, not a stitch of clothing was out of place, and even the junction of my shoulder was miraculously clear, no sign of a bite or anything. 

_What the hell, Feyre. You let a Fae bite you!_ I hissed to myself, one blush blending into the next as I whirled around, trying to get my bearings. The woods looked fairly familiar. I was certain I was somewhere near Tamlin’s estate. 

_You let that Fae do a lot more than bite you_ , another snide part of me said, and I groaned, burying my face in my hands. I was an idiot. A blind, stupid idiot who bit off more than I could chew, and I just knew someway, somehow I was going to pay dearly for my stupidity.

“I should have never left my room. Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ ” I snarled at myself, starting off in the general direction I thought the estate was in. I was lucky the Fae hadn’t done worse to me. Confused, relieved, wary, but very lucky. Not only had he saved me from a much, much worse fate with the other three faeries, but he had kept what little honour I possessed intact. 

Though, explaining to Lucien and Tamlin why I was stumbling back into the estate the next morning would be a whole other trial.

Wincing at the prospect, I tried the best I could to sneak towards the gardens of the estate, hoping everyone was fast asleep after the night’s festivities.

As usual, my luck ran out right when I needed it most.

“Have you lost your senses?” I heard a male voice hiss from just inside the gardens, and I jumped guiltily as I whirled around, coming face to face with Lucien who looked a little worse for wear. “What are you doing out here, Feyre? Didn’t Tamlin tell you to stay in your room last night?” he demanded, grabbing my arm and tugging me towards the estate, but it was too similar to the way the fae had grabbed me last night and I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, rubbing it quickly to expel the feeling crawling over my skin.

“I just wanted to _—_ ” I started, not even bothering with the lie I had begun to concoct, but he cut me off. 

“Idiot!” he hissed, his teeth grinding as he glared at me. “Useless human idiot. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? Tamlin could have found you…” he blanched, shuddering. I frowned at his reaction, the skin at the back of my neck prickling in awareness. 

“What do you mean if Tamlin had found me?” 

“It’s the Great Rite, for Cauldron’s boiling sake. Didn’t anyone explain to you?” I narrowed my eyes, and he took my glaring silence for an answer. No, no one had bothered to say any damned thing to me, and he knew it. “Calanmai is the beginning of spring in Prythian as well as the mortal world. Here, our crops depend on the magic we generate on Fire Night _—_ last night.” 

I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my pants, leaning against the stone wall of the garden. Tamlin had mentioned something similar a few days ago, but so what? All I’d seen last night was a bunch of dancing, half-wild fae. _Half-wild beast_ , my sister’s sneering voice echoed in my mind, and I stifled my instinctive cringe, shaking away the thought. 

“Okay, so?”

“We do this by conducting the Rite. Each of the seven High Lords of Prythian performs this every year, since their magic comes from the earth and returns to it at the end. It’s a give and take.”

“I still have no idea what it is,” I reminded him, and he gave a short derisive noise of impatience.

“During Fire Night, Tamlin allows… great and terrible magic to enter his body,” Lucien said, staring off as if remembering the bonfires of last night. “The magic seizes control of his mind and body, his soul, and turn him into the Hunter. It fills him with the sole purpose of finding the Maiden. From their coupling, magic is released and spread into the earth, where it regenerates life for the year to come.”

My face became hot, and I fought the urge to fidget as I remembered the wild, desperate need that had coursed through me while I was in the other Fae male’s arms last night. While Tamlin had been…

I pushed the thought from my mind. I wouldn’t think about what Tamlin had been doing, nor would I think about what I had been doing. Magic had been playing tricks on us all.

“On Calanmai, Tamlin isn’t the Fae you’ve come to know. He doesn’t even remember his own name. The magic consumes everything in him but that one basic command-- the need.” 

“Okay… I think I get it. But… who’s the Maiden?” I asked, fighting the blush threatening to steal over my cheeks. 

Lucien snorted. “It’s different every year, and no one knows until it’s time. After Tam hunts down a white stag and kills it for the sacrificial offering, he goes to a sacred cave where he finds a path filled with faerie females waiting to be chosen as his mate for the night.”

I grimaced, thinking of how close I had come to that awful cave, and suppressed a shudder. Maybe the stranger had saved me from more than I thought last night, regardless of what we…

_Nope. Don’t think about it._

I remembered the three fae that had grabbed me and I blanched. “So wait… all the other male fae…”

“Ah,” Lucien chuckled darkly. “Well, Tamlin’s not the only one who gets to participate in the Rite. His creates the most magic, but once he’s done the rest of us get to perform our own Rites, small as they are they help the land, too. That’s why you’re lucky he didn’t find you,” he turned back to glare at me. “Tamlin would have smelled you, and claimed you, but it wouldn’t have been Tamlin who brought you into that cave last night.” His eyes met mine, and a chill went over me. “And I don’t think you would have liked it. Last night is not for lovemaking.”

I fought the furious burn in my cheeks, refusing to remember the way I had writhed in the stranger’s grasp, crying out for more. 

“You should go inside before Tamlin loses his mind with worry,” he said curtly, his gaze full of censure. I glared at him back, huffing and striding off towards the estate. 

It made me sick to my stomach, thinking about Tamlin forcing me… that the magic could strip away every sense of self, of right or wrong… but still, hearing that some feral part of him wanted me… 

A flash of dark violet eyes and a lazy smirk filled my vision. My breathing was painful.

-

“Feyre!” The roar nearly knocked me off my feet as Tamlin rushed towards me the instant I stepped inside the house. I whirled around, trying not to look guilty as he stormed towards me from the direction of the study, his expression as dark as a thundercloud and half wild with anxiety. Whorls of dark blue woad painting covered his bare chest, and I tried not to curl my lip at the where it was smudged, and how the smudges lead to below the waistband of his trousers.

“I’m sorry, I stepped out for a walk…” I began weakly, but something in his eyes shut me right up.

“I smelled you,” he growled, low and guttural, and I tried to tamp down the hot shame that washed through me at the memory of where I had been. “I searched for you and you weren’t there.”

He still reeked of magic, the remnants of the power flickered like golden flames in his eyes. It was sobering. Lucien was right. This was not the Tamlin I had come to know.

I made to move past him, but he cornered me against the corridor wall. I tried desperately not to think about my back being pressed up against something much rougher, with a much darker male in front of me. It was useless. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his face, felt the ghost of his fingertips trailing over my skin. It was maddening. 

“I’m tired,” I said evenly, trying to move towards the stairs again, but he barred me with one strong arm.

“I came back from the Rite and you had been gone from your room for hours,” he seethed, but his words brought my spine up with indignation.

“Sniffing around my room were you?” I glared at him, crossing my arms obstinately.

“You drove me mad,” he countered roughly. “I searched for you, and you weren’t there. When I didn’t find you,” he brought his face closer to mine until I felt the warm wash of his breath over my face. “It made me pick another.”

I gulped, pushing the thought of him between the legs of another girl from my mind.

 _Feyre… Feyre…_ the echo of a dark groan filtered through my mind. 

“She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,” he snarled, bringing his face closer to mine. “I would have been gentle with you, though.” I shuddered, closing my eyes as the images washed over me unbidden. _A shock of dark hair against pale skin. Strong, broad hands pulling my hips on him harder, and harder…_ “You would have moaned my name through it all. And I would have taken a very, _very_ long time with you Feyre.” He said my name like a caress, and it echoed in my mind in another, darker voice. I squeezed my eyes shut in denial.

“Why should I want someone’s leftovers?” I snapped and I made to push him away, hating myself for my weakness, for the wild, conflicting desires raging through me. 

Tamlin shocked me by grabbing my hands and before I could move he bit my neck. 

I cried out as his teeth clamped down on that tender spot, and I was instantly slammed back into that moment the night before, my thighs trembling around the stranger’s leg as I rode it to completion. I had wondered if it truly happened, but now with Tamlin’s teeth sunken into the same spot the memory slammed back into me, and I whimpered, my nipples tightening painfully as my body betrayed me. 

_No other can have you, Feyre. Even if they try_ , the familiar dark voice growled in my mind, and I whimpered in denial. My body was warring against itself. Half of me was groaning at the feel of Tamlin’s strong body pressed against me, the other was crying out against it, crying out for another body, a different male…

The grip of his teeth lightened, then he pulled back, after leaving a few gentle kisses against the area. I gulped, trying desperately to find my equilibrium, and I watched his nostrils flare as he no doubt scented the fiery need crashing through me. 

He growled, low and frustrated, before pulling away and stomping back into his study, taking all the air out of the room with him.

I lay against the wall for a few shaking moments, gasping for breath as I returned to myself. The memory of the strangers’ teeth in my neck wouldn’t abate no matter how I tried, and with great effort I managed to stumble upstairs before I fell onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow to stifle my sobs of frustration as I realized I didn’t even know his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you guys think!
> 
> (tbh this is very self indulgent fic because we all know i'd immediately simp for Rhys and be a ho for him but it is what it is lmfao)


	2. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences... consequences...

The day after solstice Lucien joined us for lunch. I was still riding the high of the hours of dancing blurred by faerie wine and Tamlin’s kisses. I’d even managed to shove the memory of the dark stranger from Calanmai from my mind and enjoyed the moment. I was quite certain I would never see him again, so there was no use torturing myself over it, even though dreams had tormented me for weeks afterwards. I felt better, like the Solstice had cleansed me, made me anew. 

I’d practically floated to my room the night before, and I still felt a flush on my cheeks at the memory of Tamlin’s lips against mine. 

Ever since I had complained about the excessive length of the dining table, we’d continued to dine in a much more casual setting. Lucien was nursing a glass of juice, throwing the occasional scowl towards the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. He had clearly enjoyed himself last night. 

I smirked, eyeing him as I helped myself to another serving of bacon. “And where were you last night, dear Lucien?” 

“I’ll have you know some of us were on border patrol duty, rather than dancing like drunken fools,” he grumbled, but when Tamlin gave a pointed cough he broke out in a grin. “With some company, but still.” He shot me a sly grin. “I heard you and Tamlin didn’t come back until after dawn,” he said archly, raising a suggestive brow at me. 

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the fresh blush that stole over my cheeks. I risked a glance at Tamlin who was searching my face, as if looking for any sign of regret. Silly High Lord. 

“Hey, you bit my neck after Fire Night. A few kisses are nothing,” I sniffed, taking an exaggeratedly prim sip of my coffee, shoving away a very different memory of a very different bite. 

He braced his forearms on the table, leaning towards me with a rakish smile. “Nothing?” His eyes dropped to my lips, and Lucien gave a pointed cough, shifting awkwardly. I snickered, sticking my tongue out at his obvious discomfort. 

“Nothing,” I repeated with a beatific smile. I was keenly aware of every movement Tamlin made, every inch of space between us growing taut with tension. 

“You sure about that?” he murmured, heat flaring in his gaze and I swallowed thickly. I thought about what it might feel like to have him right there on the table, his broad hands running over my body. I wanted his mouth all over me, I wanted him to erase the memory of any other touch but his. 

“Hello? I’m trying to eat?” Lucien chuckled, and I snapped out of the heated thought train I had lost myself in. Blushing again, I turned back to my breakfast, pointedly ignoring them both. “But, now that I have your attention, Tamlin,” Lucien continued, his tone threaded with exasperation. “I’m afraid I have bad tidings this morning.”

Our attention immediately snapped to the emissary, and I felt a churning in my gut. Something about his tone boded ill. Tamlin seemed to think the same as he set his fork and knife down, his full attention now zeroed in on Lucien.

Lucien sighed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “My contact at the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me.” He took a steadying breath, and I felt something flip in my chest at the bleakness of his tone. “The… blight,” he said tightly, cheeks growing paler. “It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen. Gone.” He swallowed, head shaking slightly. “There was nothing anyone in the Winter Court could do. No one could stop it once it turned its attention towards them. Their grief is…” he shook his head again, sharply, as if expelling the image from his mind. I felt gooseflesh prickle down my arms and spine, despair coiling deep in my stomach as my hand flew up to cover my mouth in shock. “My contact says other courts are being hit hard, though the Night Court, of course, remains unscathed. However… the blight seems to be moving its wickedness this way, further south with every attack. It’s only a matter of time.” 

I felt a heavy throbbing in my chest, and nausea swept through me. Two dozen younglings _—_ children. Veritable infants compared to the immortal fae… gone. Wiped from existence. Children were so rare in the fae, to lose even one was a tragedy beyond measure… but two dozen… 

It was unfathomable. 

“The blight… it can really kill people?” I whispered, my voice cracking. 

Tamlin’s eyes were shadowed and he slowly shook his head, as if to dispel the grief and shock that had taken hold. “The blight is capable of hurting people in ways you _—_ ” In the next blink Tamlin had shot to his feet, his chair flipping backwards with the force of his sudden movement. His claws unsheathed and he snarled at the doorway, canines long and gleaming. 

The house, usually filled with the whispering movements and chatter of servants, had gone utterly silent. 

It was a trembling quiet that made me want to turn heel and run, to crawl under the table and hide until it went away. Lucien swore and drew his sword, metal eye whirring.

“Get her to the windows _—_ the curtains, hide her,” Tamlin snapped to Lucien, and before I could even blink I was being shoved back against the wall, my body half hidden behind the folds of the heavy drapes. 

“What’s…?” I began, but Tamlin’s quick growl silenced me. I gripped the hilt of the knife I kept sheathed at my hip to comfort myself, but if Lucien and Tamlin were this on edge I wasn’t sure how much good it would really do me.

The heavy tang of magic filled my nostrils, and I knew Tamlin had thrown a glamour over me to hide me, mask me with Lucien’s magic and scent. Ice skittered down my spine as I felt my heart pound in my throat, my palms growing sweaty with every roiling growl tearing out of Tamlin’s chest. 

Suddenly, Tamlin seemed to change, a stony expression of boredom covering his face. He righted the chair he had knocked over, then sprawled in it, every inch the lazy, powerful High Lord as he picked at his nails, acting like nothing wrong at all was occurring.

Something horrible was coming. Something like the Attor, that would hurt me if it learned of my presence. Fear, thick and cloying tried to fight its way out of me, and I tried to breathe as shallowly and evenly as I could even as I trembled. 

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual. 

I frowned. I couldn’t detect a malevolent presence like I had with the Attor, the naga, or the Bogge. What was coming that had everyone so frightened? 

Lucien frowned down at his sword, pretending to be inspecting the hilt for an imperfection that wasn’t there. 

Then, the man who had been tormenting my dreams for weeks strolled right through the door. 

I felt my stomach plummet as the dark glory of his perfection hit me full force once again, and I fought the heat that flooded through me at the memories of finding my release against his hard body. _Shit, shit, shit._ The last thing I wanted was for Lucien or Tamlin to realize I knew him. That I’d met him before.

 _There you are. I've been looking for_ you.

Dread punched through me as something occurred to me that never had before. What if he told them what had happened? What if he held the knowledge over my head and made me do something I didn’t want to? 

_Stupid, foolish girl!_ I cried to myself, panic flooding my throat. I should have never left the house on Calanmai. I should have run from him the minute I saw him. Here were the consequences of my actions come to take their price from my hide, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

With graceful, feline steps, the dark stranger sauntered up to the dining table, a ghost of a smile pulling up his sensual lips. Cauldron, those lips had been on my skin. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

_Don’t think about it_ , I ordered myself frantically. He was wearing the same kind of well-cut, ebony clothing as he had been on Calanmai, but these were brocaded with silver thread that shimmered like starlight. In the light of day it was now obvious that those were indeed tendrils of shadow draped around him, caressing him like they were a part of him. 

I had resisted every unwelcome urge to paint him these past weeks, and now I felt like I would never gather the courage to. How could someone capture that depth of darkness?

“High Lord,” the stranger crooned in that deep, bedroom voice that sent a thrill I wouldn’t acknowledge through me, inclining his head slightly. Not a bow. 

_Oh, Cauldron. If he wouldn’t bow to Tamlin…_

Tamlin remained seated, acting for all the world like he was utterly unconcerned with the arrival of this unwanted guest. I couldn’t see his face, but there was enough violence laced in his voice that I could almost imagine it as he said, “What do you want, Rhysand?”

Rhysand smirked, heartbreakingly beautiful, and put an exaggerated hand on his chest. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin, I don’t see you for fifty years and you start calling me _Rhysand?_ ” He tutted, shaking his head slowly with feigned hurt. “Only my prisoners and enemies call me that,” he winked, but something in his expression turned so feral and deadly I felt the breath steal from my lungs. It was more frightening than Tamlin had ever looked, even when he’d broken into my family’s hut the first night.

His eyes flickered over to Lucien, giving him a disdainful once-over. “A fox mask. Suits you, Luce.”

“Go to hell, Rhysand,” Lucien bit out. I swallowed heavily, nervous that Rhysand’s attention was so close to where I was hidden.

Rhysand plucked an invisible piece of lint off the arm of his ebony tunic. “Yes, well, I do _so_ enjoy treating with the rabble,” he said, every word dripping with sarcasm. He finally turned his attention back to Tamlin. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything terribly important.”

“We were just finishing lunch,” Tamlin answered flatly.

“ _Riveting_ ,” Rhysand purred, his violet eyes flashing. Even from here I could see the stars that swirled in them, and I gritted my teeth against the memories that flooded through me at the sight. 

_So beautiful, so perfect when you—_

“What do you want, Rhys?” Tamlin repeated, his tone cold and imposing. A High Lord's voice. 

Rhysand perched on the edge of the table, arms crossing casually as if he were an old acquaintance. “I just wanted to check in, see how you all were doing. Did you get my present?”

“Your present was completely unnecessary,” Tamlin snapped, a deep, guttural growl tearing out of his chest. I felt nauseous as I remembered the severed head on the spike.

“Ah, I know, but isn’t a fun reminder of the old days?” Rhysand flashed another condescending smirk, his fathomless eyes sweeping around the room with scorn. “Almost a half a century holed up in this… ah- _quaint-_ little country estate. I don’t know how you’ve managed it. Really, I don’t. But,” he turned to face Tamlin fully again, “you’re such a stubborn old bastard that this must have seemed like practically a haven compared to Under the Mountain.” Something dark flashed through his expression, gone before I could be really sure I’d seen it. “In fact, I'm sure it is. Forty-nine years, though, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands _—_ even now that things are getting interesting again.”

“There is nothing to be done,” Tamlin gritted out, and Rhysand snorted, looking for a moment like he was fighting an eye-roll. He slid off the table, the picture of lethal grace as he stalked closer to Tamlin. 

His voice dropped lower, a sensual caress that had me clenching my teeth, my muscles locking in place. “What a pity, Tamlin, that you must be the ever-suffering martyr. That you should bear the brunt of this great burden _—_ and an even greater pity that you’ve utterly resigned yourself to your fate. Ready to give up without ever trying. _Pathetic_. How far you have fallen from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago.”

“And what would you know of anything? You’re nothing but Amarantha’s whore, now,” Lucien spat.

Rhysand didn’t miss a beat as he smirked, tapping his long fingers against the edge of the table. “Her whore I may be, but not without my very specific reasons.” I couldn’t suppress my flinch as his voice sharpened into a cutting edge. “At least I haven’t languished amongst the buttercups and roses while the rest of the world goes to shit.”

Lucien raised his sword. “You know _nothing_.”

Rhysand tutted, shaking his head condescendingly. “Little Lucien. How your mother grieves over losing you, though the gossip that came from your defection to the Spring Court certainly provided plenty of entertainment for the rest of us.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” Lucien snarled, the sword raising slightly higher.

Rhysand laughed _—_ a lover’s laugh, low and soft and intimate. “Now, now, Lucien, is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian?”

The floor fell away from my feet and my heart stuttered to a stop in my chest.

_No, no, no…_

That was why those faeries had run the other way on Calanmai. To cross him would have been suicide…

I felt my stomach drop like a stone, and I stared at him with new eyes. The stars in his deep, violet eyes, the swirling darkness that seemed to caress him…

Oh, Cauldron, no. 

Rhysand was the High Lord of the Night Court.

_And we had… we had..._

I was frozen, barely hearing what they were saying. The stranger that had been tormenting my dreams was none other than the High Lord of the Night Court. I had gone willingly into the arms of Tamlin’s greatest enemy. 

“This isn’t the Night Court, I don’t have to pay you any respect,” Lucien hissed. I could see his shoulders shaking slightly with the heat of his ire.

“You really ought to keep your sycophants in place, Tamlin. It’s terribly uncouth,” Rhysand said with a raised brow.

“I don’t enforce rank at my court,” Tamlin said tersely.

“Really? Still? It’s so fun when they grovel, though,” Rhysand mused with a slight smirk.

“You should get back to where you came from. Amarantha’s bed ought to be growing cold by now,” Lucien sneered.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Rhysand was on Lucien faster than I could blink, shoving him back into the wall so hard that I had to bite my lip not to cry out in pain as my back dug painfully into the chair rail. This close I could smell the intoxicating blend of bergamot, citrus, and ocean that seemed to wash from him, and I closed my eyes against the effect it had on me. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

“I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you even cut your teeth, _boy_ , so I would watch your tone.” As fast as he had moved, he now withdrew, unruffled and casual as ever. “Your Lord here learned everything he knows about swords and women from me, if you’ll remember. Surely you didn’t think he learned everything he did from his father’s little war-camps,” he snorted. Lucien had the grace to remain silent, for once subdued. 

Tamlin pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Can we do this another time, Rhys? You’ll see me soon enough.”

“Hmm… yes. She’s getting everything ready for you as we speak. Given your current state, I think I can safely report back to her that you’re thoroughly broken and willing to reconsider her offer.” Rhysand trailed a finger lazily along the back of the chair I’d been sitting in, a casual gesture. I felt Lucien tense in front of me. “I’m particularly looking forward to seeing your face when you…” his voice trailed off, as if something had just occurred to him.

He studied the table.

Lucien pressed me harder against the wall, and my heart began pounding in my throat. The table was clearly set for three. 

“Where’s your guest?” Rhysand asked casually, lifting the goblet and sniffing it. I watched as he frowned curiously, as if trying to dredge something up from his memory. A dull roar began in my ears as full-blown panic set in. 

“I sent them off when I sensed your arrival,” Tamlin lied smoothly. Rhysand was staring at Tamlin, and I saw the flicker of excitement, almost disbelief that flashed across his face before he whipped towards Lucien. Magic seared my nostrils, and I stared in undiluted terror as the High Lord’s face contorted into rage, his eyes locking onto mine. 

“You dare glamour me?” he snarled. The stars in his violet eyes seemed to swirl with his fury, and it was the night Calanmai all over again. Lucien pushed me further into the wall.

Tamlin’s chair clattered against the ground as he threw it back, his claws unsheathing and digging into the table. “She is under my protection, you are not to touch her,” he said, his voice dark and laced with violence.

Rhysand’s eyes flared with mischief and knowing, and my mouth went dry. _Please don’t tell them… please don’t tell them…_ I pleaded silently.

“I remember you,” he purred, stepping closer as his gaze raked over me, the phantom feel of his hands making my skin tingle with awareness. I fought the urge to shake my head in desperation. “It would seem you didn’t follow my advice and stay out of trouble.” He turned towards Tamlin. “And who, pray tell, is your guest?”

“My betrothed,” Lucien blurted out, and I hid a wince as Rhysand’s smirk widened as his eyes flashed back to me, the latent heat in them enough to send shame flooding through me. Lucien had told the one lie he would never believe. Because of my stupidity. Because of what I’d done.

 _Stupid, stupid girl,_ I railed at myself.

“Oh? How… interesting. And here I was thinking you were still mourning that commoner after all these centuries,” Rhysand said, stalking towards me with singular intent in his eyes. My muscles locked up as the full force of his gaze bore into me. Darkness seemed to pulse from him, the deep rumble of his voice washing over me with devastating effects.

_Feyre… I want to watch you—_

Lucien spat at the High Lord’s feet and shoved his sword between us.

“Please, Lucien. Don’t make me laugh. If you draw blood from me you’ll learn just how quickly Amarantha can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially a certain darling _Lady_.”

Lucien trembled with rage, but Tamlin’s voice broke in between them.

“Lucien, put your sword down.”

Rhysand raked his eyes over me, and I could see exactly what he was thinking about as his gaze came back up and locked on mine with a sultry smirk pulling at his lips.

_So beautiful, so perfect when you come for me…_

The words seemed to echo even louder in my mind at his proximity, and my cheeks blazed with shame even as a pulse of heat curled between my thighs unbidden.

“I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dally with mortal trash,” he smirked, and I blinked at the incongruence of his words and actions. Why was he acting like he believed Lucien’s lie? “The Lady of the Autumn Court will certainly grieve when she hears what her youngest son has done now. If I were you, I would keep your new pet well away from your father.”

I could feel the mixture of rage and sorrow washing from Lucien in waves, and I tried to keep the confusion from my face as I stared down Rhysand. There was a different message he was saying to me than the words he was saying to Lucien, but for the life of me I couldn’t understand the game he was playing.

“Leave, Rhys,” Tamlin growled, still standing by his seat at the table. He hadn’t made a move to throw the other High Lord out, and maybe it was because a fight between two High Lords would be too cataclysmic, cause too much collateral damage to the estate and those in it for him to intervene. Or perhaps Rhysand really was this Amarantha’s lover, and any move against him would draw too harsh of a retaliation, especially when they were already dealing with the blight.

Rhysand raised a hand, then, and brushed Lucien aside as if he were nothing more than a curtain. 

There was nothing between us, now, and the air seemed to heat again as it had on Calanmai. I could almost feel the pounding drums reverberating through my skin. Tamlin remained frozen where he was, and Lucien didn’t so much as blink as Rhysand, with horrific gentleness, pried the knife I'd forgotten I was gripping with white knuckles from my fingers, and sent it scattering across the room.

“There, now we can have a nice, calm chat together. It wouldn’t have helped you anyway,” he smirked, stepping closer so I had to crane my neck to look him in the eyes. His scent wrapped around me again, dulling my senses even as fear clogged my throat. I was utterly at his mercy and he knew it. If he chose to reveal what had happened on Calanmai there was nothing I could do about it. “If you were smart you would run from this place, these people, run back to your home across the wall. It’s a wonder you’re still here, actually.” He must have seen the confusion in my eyes as he smirked again. “Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

“You have five seconds to leave, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled, but Rhysand just shot him a glance full of contempt.

“I know you did not just threaten me, Tamlin. Really, try to act intelligent for once.” Rhysand turned back to me, the stars in his violet eyes swirling, captivating me.

Against my volition, my body went ramrod straight, all of my muscles straining as a deeper tang of magic than I had ever known surrounded me, filling my very bones. Power that seized everything inside of me, controlling every breath, every pulse of my blood through my veins. 

I couldn’t move, and terror skittered through me as an invisible, talon-tipped hand caressed down my mind. All at once I understood the devastating power of the High Lord of the Night Court. If he wanted to break my mind he could with but a flicker of a thought.

“Let her go,” Tamlin growled, but his voice was far away, as if I was hearing it underwater. Rhysand let invisible hands stroke down my mind sensually, and suddenly I was inundated with images from Calanmai, but this time they were from his point of view. 

I _watched my dazed, wary expression morph into wanton pleasure as I surrendered to him, crying out for more, begging for pleasure. Blazing heat pulsed through me as I smelled the smoke of Fire Night once more, felt his teeth sinking into my shoulder_ _as his straining need ground into my abdomen. Then, the images changed._

_We were naked, now, on dark silk sheets as Rhysand pounded into me, and I was shaking, crying out his name as he fucked me with wild abandon, screaming—_

_That’s what I wanted to do that night,_ his deep, sensual voice rumbled into my mind. He showed me more angles, positions, image after image flashing through my mind of his fantasies, and it was like his soul was inside of mine, caressing, stroking, making love to me from the inside.

“I’d forgotten how easy human minds are to shatter, like eggshells,” Rhysand’s voice snapped me out of the latest image of his head between my thighs, and I gasped in a huge breath, as if I had stopped breathing that whole time. He reached forward, tracing his real finger down my throat just as he had on Fire Night and I shuddered, feeling tears sting my eyes.

“She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin,” he smirked, but something darker like possession flared in his eyes. “I’m curious, why did she wonder if it would feel the same for you to bite her breast like you bit her neck?”

I felt something like rage rolling off of him, and his voice rumbled through my mind once more.

_Didn’t I tell you? No other can have you, Feyre. Even if they try._

“Let. Her. Go.” Tamlin was shaking with rage.

“Amarantha will enjoy breaking her,” Rhysand sighed, but in my mind another image showed, of me splayed on that same bed with dark silk sheets, draped in jewels _—_ and nothing else, his strong fingers gripping my thighs. “Almost as much as she’ll enjoy watching you as she breaks her apart, bit by bit.”

I couldn’t make sense of the threatening words mixed with the erotic images he kept filling my mind with.

Tamlin was frozen, his arms hanging limply at his sides. I’d never seen him look like that. So defeated. So broken. “Please,” was all that he said.

“Please what?” Rhysand purred, gentle and coaxing. Like a lover. 

_Another image of me blindfolded, tied up on the same bed, the word please hovering on my lips as Rhysand trailed his fingers over my skin._

“Don’t tell Amarantha about her,” Tamlin rasped, something akin to panic in his eyes. 

“And why not? As her _whore_ ,” he tossed a disdainful glance over at where Lucien was frozen in place. “I should tell her everything, no?”

“Please,” Tamlin ground out, as if it were difficult to breathe.

Rhysand drew me before him, turning me so my back was pressed to his front. One hand drifted up my stomach, ghosting over my breasts and came to rest against my throat, his fingers curling gently around it, while his other arm wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him.

“Get on your knees and beg, and I’ll consider not telling her. It’ll be _our little secret_ ,” he whispered the last bit in my ear, and I didn’t miss the double entendre of his words. I fought a shiver as his warm breath tickled the shell of my ear, my back arching slightly against my will.

I watched in horror as Tamlin fell to his knees, bowing his head. What the hell was he doing?

I began to open my mouth to protest, to yell at Tamlin to stop but Rhysand shushed me in my mind.

_Watch._

I railed against him silently, pushing back against the sensual talons that held my mind in their grasp. _Why are you doing this? Why? Stop! Stop it now!_

“Lower.”

Tamlin dropped lower, his forehead resting on the floor, and I felt my heart break as the proud, strong man I had come to know debased himself before us. 

Rhysand pointed at Lucien. “You, too, fox boy.” 

I felt white-hot rage pour through me as Lucien, stone-faced, dropped to his knees as well, bowing before Rhysand. I kicked and screamed at Rhysand in my mind, raking whatever claws I possessed there against his mind but I was met with a solid black wall of steel. 

_I’ll kill you,_ I swore. He only chuckled, pressing his lips to the dip below my ear.

_That I would love to see, darling._

“Are you doing this for her sake, or yours?” Rhysand wondered aloud, and I watched Tamlin’s claws dig into the wooden floor of the dining room. I felt him shrug behind me, nonchalant, but I could feel something like rage swirling just beneath the surface. “You’re too desperate, Tamlin. It’s off-putting. And all for a mortal woman?” He tutted, brushing his warm fingers down my throat again in a lover’s caress. “Becoming High Lord made you so boring.”

_An image of Rhysand with his head thrown back, mouth open in pleasure as I writhed above him, my nails raking down his bare, sculpted chest._

“Are you going to tell Amarantha?” Tamlin asked, keeping his face to the floor.

“Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t,” he tugged my earlobe between his teeth, and I hated myself with every fibre of my being that my breath caught. I hated Rhysand more in that moment than I’d ever hated anyone in my life. 

Tamlin was up so fast, his face dangerously close to mine but Rhysand shoved him back with the same invisible power that held me still.

“Ah, ah, ah. None of that. Not with a lady present,” he pressed a lingering kiss to my throat, and I knew from Tamlin’s expression they hadn’t broken eye contact as he did so. I begged for Tamlin's forgiveness with my eyes.

“What’s your name, love?” Rhysand asked me then, turning me to face him, and I had to quickly school my features from the confusion I felt. Why was he asking me? He already knew. I’d told him on Calanmai. 

_Unless… If he was asking… then…_

“Clare Beddor,” I blurted out, coming up with the first name of a girl from my village that came to mind.

Rhysand turned back to Tamlin, completely unfazed by his proximity. “Well then, this has all been very entertaining but I really must be getting back now. I’m looking forward to seeing you Under the Mountain. I’ll send Amarantha your regards.” 

Then, Rhysand vanished into nothing, as if he’d stepped through a rift in the world, leaving us in a horrible, rending silence that was broken as my knees gave out and I fell to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you guys think!  
> i kept this scene pretty close to that one of the book but obviously tweaked the dialogue a lot.


	3. Under the Mountain I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bargain time

No one, not even Lucien came to fix my arm in the days after my victory over the Middengard worm.

The pain overwhelmed me to the point of screaming whenever I touched the shard of bone protruding from my forearm, and I knew there was no way I would be able to take it out. All I could do was sit there in the freezing cell, covered in festering filth while the pain from the wound slowly sapped at my strength. 

Worse than the growing panic, however, was the fact that the wound hadn’t stopped bleeding, and now thick, white pus was beginning to show around the puffy, inflamed red edges of the wound. I began to dream of warm, dry clothes, fires, and hot, soapy water. Or maybe they were hallucinations. 

I couldn’t eat the rotten food they threw to me. The scent of it alone mixed with the festering mud covering every inch of my skin drove me to vomit in the corner of my cell.

I was shivering on the thin mattress of moldy straw, my left arm held at an awkward angle to avoid the agony I felt shooting through me every time I moved it. I’d awoken feeling muddled, alternating between feverish hot flashes and bone-rattling shivers, but my left arm was a constant blaze of heat that seemed to grow with every passing minute. 

_It’s just a cold_ , I told myself over and over. _Just a cold. Not a fever. Not a fever. Not a fever._

The bars of the cell door seemed to ripple and sway, and I stared at them, biting down a whimper as another bout of shivers wracked me, sending shards of poison lightning arcing up my arm. 

Every breath felt shallower, and my eyelids were heavy, stinging. I knew I couldn’t go to sleep. If I did…

I didn’t want to know what would happen if I did.

I watched the darkness bend around the door, and I frowned. This hallucination was worse than the others, more intense. Fear skittered down my spine as a male form stepped from the darkness, almost like he’d passed through a rift in the shadows. Then I realised this was no hallucination.

It was Rhysand.

I couldn’t help the next bout of shivers as I glared at him, hating the smirk that pulled at his lips. Hating that I knew how they felt against my skin. Hating how dirty and awful I must look to him.

“Goodness, what a sorry state for Tamlin’s champion,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“G-g-go t-to hell,” I snapped at him, wincing as another shard of pain pierced through me.

He took a few steps closer, and I hated his feline grace as he crouched before me, much too close for comfort. He sniffed, grimacing at the corner of the cell that was covered in vomit, and hot shame flooded my cheeks. The last time he’d been this close to me I hadn’t been covered in festering mud and cauldron knows what. 

Rhysand cocked his head to the side, almost as if he were assessing me. My head felt like lead, and I couldn’t resist him as he tilted my chin side to side, before brushing his fingers against my forehead. 

“What would Tamlin think if he knew his love was rotting away in this prison cell, burning up with fever with no one to help her?” he murmured, and I felt a hot stinging in my eyes that had nothing to do with the fever, and everything to do with the ache in my chest. Why was Rhysand taunting me like this?

“Please, just go,” I said thickly, turning my chin away as I fought the tears creating a knot in my throat.

“I risk my life to come down here and help you, and you tell me to leave?” he tutted, shaking his head.

My eyelids fluttered. I could feel sweat breaking out over my brow, now.

“Please go,” I whispered, my voice barely a rasp of breath.

“You made me a lot of money the other night. I just wanted to return the favour. A High Lord can’t be indebted to a mortal, now, could he? It would be indecent,” he smirked, and I hated that the memory of Calanmai flashed through my mind. It seemed he had a very strange definition of indecent compared to me.

I leaned my head against the cool wall, trying to get things to stop spinning. The floor felt like it was swaying under me, and I tamped down the nausea swirling through me, trying desperately to breathe through it but every breath felt like shards of glass. The room was spinning… spinning…

“Let me see your arm, Feyre,” he said quietly. 

Was this another of my dreams?

I shuddered, shaking my head. “No,” I whispered, hating to seem weak in front of him. Anger flashed through his eyes.

“Let me see it,” he growled, and without waiting for my answer his hand darted out and he pulled my arm into view.

A shattered cry left my lips without my bidding as he tilted my arm better so he could see, agony rippling through me with every motion. I could have sworn I saw fury blaze in his eyes before a stony mask fell over them, and a cruel smirk pulled at his lips. I could feel the shard of bone shifting around in my arm and a keening moan left my lips as he touched it experimentally.

“Please, _please_ stop, please.” I was begging before I could stop myself, shivering from the fiery torment.

“It is wonderfully gruesome, I’ll give you that,” Rhysand said wryly, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes, which looked for a moment like all the stars had been snuffed out.

“Get out,” I growled, my voice barely a wheeze.

“What if I could heal your arm?” he said, gaze locking on mine.

Something like dread flipped in my chest. “At what cost?” I managed to lace some scorn into my thready voice, and to my surprise his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Ah, so you _have_ learned a little about how the Fae work in your time here,” his fingers curled around my elbow, stroking the bit of exposed skin there that wasn’t covered in mud. “I’ll make a trade with you,” he continued, and all I could focus on in that moment was the maddening feeling of his finger rubbing soft circles on the inside of my elbow. “I’ll heal your arm in exchange for you. For two weeks every month _—_ two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me in the Night Court. Starting, of course, after this messy trials business is finished.”

My eyes flew open, and I would have jerked upright if my body hadn’t felt like it was covered in pounds and pounds of sand. Stay? With _him?_

_So beautiful, so perfect when you—_

“No,” I blurted out before I could plunge back into the memories of that night. It seemed so far away now, felt so unreal that it had happened, and Rhysand had been standing this close to me before in such different circumstances. Besides, I’d already made one fool’s bargain. 

“No?” he leaned closer, and bergamot and citrus mixed with the sea washed over me, momentarily blocking out the stench of the mud and my cell. I was abruptly plunged back into the memory of how it had felt when he’d bit me. “Really?” His voice was back to that dark, lover's purr, and I trembled, wishing I was anywhere but there.

My vision danced, and I tried to swallow. “Yes.”

“You would really turn down my offer? And for what?” I shivered, but he continued, not waiting for a response. “You’re dying, Feyre. You know it. I know it. You’re no good to Tamlin dead. So why are you refusing, really? Because of what happened on Calanmai?” he gave me a knowing smirk, and I couldn’t be sure if the heat flooding my face was from the fever or my own embarrassment. “You’re holding out for one of your friends, aren’t you? Lucien, I suppose,” he mused, and I felt him begin to stroke rhythmic lines up and down my fingers from my palm crease to fingertips. I clamped my lips shut and ignored the way it sent tingles up my arm. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know someone helped you. The Attor broke your nose and it’s still straight and cute as a button,” he winked at me, and I looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

I felt so vulnerable at that moment, so utterly helpless. He was right. If I died, there was nothing, no one who could get Tamlin away from Amarantha. 

I glared at him, shaking my head. Rhysand sighed.

“Those are your two options, Feyre. Agree to my demands, or die _—_ then, Amarantha wins. She gets Tamlin. Forever. He will never see you again,” he said, raising an eyebrow, and I could see the picture he painted too clear. I was damned either way.

“I can’t,” I shook my head, and a tear leaked down my cheek. If I agreed to this… 

The thought of Tamlin’s face when he learned I’d be living with his enemy for half of every single month broke something open in my chest that started to bleed. I couldn’t do that to him.

I couldn’t leave him to Amarantha, either.

Rhysand set my arm down, and I failed to stifle the whimper as fresh, fiery agony lanced up through it all the way to my jaw. He stood, and began to pace slowly in front of me, hands in his pockets.

“Let’s say I leave here, and Lucien comes right after. Maybe he comes in five hours. Maybe five days. Maybe not at all. Maybe... he won’t risk it because Amarantha knows someone healed you the last time and now she’s watching too closely. Besides, she’s not exactly pleased at his outburst during your first trial. It was all Tamlin could do to beg her to spare him,” he paused as he noticed my flinch. “She did, of course. But not before she forced Tamlin to administer her punishment for him _—_ twenty lashes. Do you think either of them actually realizes how quickly an infection can kill a mortal?”

“Oh, and you do?” I bit out, and he smirked at me, though his gaze was shuttered for a moment.

“Let’s just say I’ve seen first hand what a festering wound can do in a matter of days to mortals. At best you’d lose the arm, at worst _—_ your life.”

I shook my head, wanting to deny everything he was saying, but fear was a barbed weapon lodged deep in my stomach as I thought about either option. The idea of losing my arm made me want to vomit all over again. 

He narrowed his gaze at me, but I could hardly see because it now looked like there was be two of him and it was at a weird angle.

“I w-w-on’t sell mys-self t-t-to you,” I spat, my teeth chattering from the shivers wracking my body.

Rhysand was in front of me so fast I missed his movement, and he picked up my arm before I could pull out of his grasp.

I screamed, my voice shattering as my vision swam red and black. He bared his teeth at me, eyes flashing.

“This? This is how you want to go out, Feyre? You’d let yourself die for pride?”

“Why?” I sobbed, panting as I tried desperately to pull out of his grasp but I was as weak as a kitten. 

“You know why, Feyre. I already told you. No other can have you. Not even if they try.”

I felt the hot tracks of tears as they dripped down my face, and I trembled as I looked at him. No. I couldn't do this. But...

Die, and let Amarantha win, lose Tamlin, or... agree to go with him. Half of every month for the rest of my life.

“Last chance,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my lower lip, and his edges began to blur, as if the night was pulling him back into it. “I won’t extend my offer again. I’m sure you’ll be kicking and screaming as Death comes to take you from this cell, but at least then you’ll be Her problem, and not mine.”

He could be bluffing. He could know that Lucien was on his way right now to help me and be tricking me into agreeing to the deal, or he could be right and I was hours, maybe days away from a slow, agonizing, ugly death.

I felt it deep in my soul, though. I’d known deep down since I woke up. I was dying. There was no one coming to help me, at least not soon enough to save my arm or my life. Would Lucien even understand the risk I was in? Did he or Tamlin even suspect that I was sick or infected?

Rhysand’s pale skin began to look transparent, shadows writhing over his face like serpents. My heart pounded in my throat.

“Wait.”

His skin stopped fading, then slowly became more solid, and I saw the ghost of a smirk tug at his lips, his eyes brightening in anticipation.

For… for Tamlin. I could sell my soul for Tamlin. I would give up everything I had, everything I was for him. 

“Five days,” I rasped. Rhysand barked out a laugh, and I blinked, the sound utterly unexpected.

“You hover on Death’s doorstep, and you think to bargain with me?” He was grinning now, and I hated how devastatingly handsome it made him look. “Feyre, Feyre… two teensy little weeks can’t be that bad, can it?”

Oh, cauldron. I hated how my name sounded on his lips, how it made me remember...

“What are the t-t-terms?” I asked warily, another bout of shivers wracking my body.

“Ah, now that would take all the fun out of it if I told you, wouldn’t it?” he purred. The stars were swimming in his eyes now, and I was so close to giving in, but I tried again.

“Five days.”

“Ten.”

“A week.”

Rhysand stared at me for a long moment, the corners of his lips tugging upwards again. Then his eyes dropped down to my lips, and a flash of heat seared through me against my will.

“Very well. A week it is,” he murmured. 

I swallowed, hard. Cauldron, what was I doing? What was I getting myself into?

“Then… then it’s a deal,” I whispered.

“You know how deals are sealed, Feyre,” his eyes flashed with mischief and heat, and I gaped at him.

Before I could protest, he leaned in, and pressed his lips to mine.

The metallic taste of magic flooded my mouth as it passed between us, then bubbling heat seemed to fill every cell, every vein in my body like sparkling wine. I gasped into his mouth and he deepened the kiss, and instantly my mind went back to that night where he held me against the tree, driving me to the heights of ecstasy. 

I felt more than heard his groan as his tongue flickered against mine, coaxing it to brush against his, and I must have lost my mind because then I was kissing him back, pouring all the pain, frustration, and heat coursing through my body into it. My left arm was on fire, bone and flesh rending and I cried out, but he swallowed the sound, plundering my mouth with his kiss.

My brain finally caught up to my body after several long moments, and I inhaled sharply, using both hands to shove him away.

Both hands.

Rhysand’s eyes were a bit wild and bright, and his grin was positively savage. Without thinking, I swung out at him with my closed fist.

He caught my wrist easily, and the first thing I noticed was that the mud on my skin was gone. In fact, I felt clean, like I’d just bathed. Then…

“What have you _done?_ ” I cried out, holding up my left arm.

It was covered from fingertips to my elbow in a swirling filigree of dark ink. I tore my wrist from his grasp and rubbed at it, trying to scrub it from my skin but… it was a tattoo.

“It’s customary in my court for bargains to be permanently marked into the skin,” he gave me the same lazy smirk he gave me on Calanmai, and I wished my glare could actually cause him pain.

My head was clear and steady, and my fever was gone. My arm was entirely whole, not even a scar was left to commemorate the injury, but I was sure even if I still had one it would have been mostly covered by ink. I turned my hand over, noticing an eye inked into the center of my palm. It was feline, with a slitted pupil. I couldn’t help the feeling that it was watching me.

“I didn’t agree to that,” I spat back at him, pushing myself up to standing, but I moved too quickly. I swayed, my eyes immediately swimming with black spots. Apparently even though I was healed, that didn’t make up for missing several days worth of meals.

I felt strong arms wrap around me, and I was once again face to face with Rhysand, every inch of my front pressed against his.

“You didn’t ask, so why would I tell you?” he shrugged. I wanted to smack the grin right off his face, but I knew he’d just catch me, so I settled for a glare. “I can see the violence in your eyes, darling. Humans really are grateful creatures, aren’t they?” he taunted, one hand drifting down to grip my hip.

_Oh, no, no, no…_

I froze up, my mind immediately inundated with memories of the last time he held me like this. He noticed my reaction, and the next moment I was pressed against the wall, right back where we started.

“Oh, Feyre, Feyre...” he gave a dark chuckle, leaning down until his lips were hovering just over mine, and my mind went utterly blank. “I do believe we’re going to have so much fun.”

“Make it go away,” I demanded, pushing away every feeling, every reaction my body was having to being this close to him. _Stupid, stupid girl._

Rhysand laughed, grabbing up my left wrist and pinning it to the wall beside my face. “No, I think I quite like it, actually. I wonder, though. Is this lack of gratitude because of how a certain High Lord may feel once he sees this?” he mused, before leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss to the hammering pulse point in my wrist. 

_Tamlin_. Oh, cauldron. What would he think when he saw what I’d done? Guilt and shame poured through me, hot and sharp. I could already hear his anger and disappointment, see the baleful look in his eyes. 

“Hmm… I think I’ll wait to tell him until the right moment, though,” he continued, as if my whole world wasn’t crumbling apart around me right then. He tilted my chin up so I couldn’t escape his molten, starry gaze, and my lips tingled at the memory of that horrible, stupid kiss. 

“I hate you,” I spat, baring my teeth at him. Rhysand chuckled, his thumb digging into my chin ever so slightly. 

“Rest up, Feyre darling. Sweet…” he trailed off, his eyes dancing with mischief suddenly. 

Without warning, he pushed a vision into my mind. 

_Once again we were naked on a bed with dark, silky sheets as he thrusted hard between my thighs, but now my left arm that was covered in the tattoo was gripping the bunching muscles of his ass as I cried out his name…_

“Dreams,” he finished with a smirk as the vision abruptly ended, and in the next blink I was alone in my cell, sliding down the wall to sit heavily on the floor as the full implications of my choice hit me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you guys think ;)))


	4. Under the Mountain II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning to anyone wishing to continue reading, the next chapter or so after this is definitely going to stray into some dubcon territory, so just be aware. The book was fairly dubcon Under the Mountain between Rhys and Feyre, but I'm gonna take it to another level, so if you don't like that stuff I would recommend glossing over it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sorting lentils from ash and embers— fucking ridiculous, and wasteful, and—

I walked over to the fireplace, and my shoulders slumped.

Impossible.

I glanced around the bedroom the two red guards had led me into, feeling nerves flip my stomach. Whoever the occupant was, I wasn’t sure they’d enjoy find me rooting through their fireplace like a damn badger searching for roots, but there was nothing to be done for it.

I stared around at the sparse furnishings, then my gaze landed on the bed, my eyes blowing wide. 

The sheets were dark, and looked to be made of silk, just like…

_Nope. Don’t think about it. It’s just a coincidence._

I noted the lack of personal belongings or effects, as if whomever’s room this was rarely if ever stayed in here. I took a deep, steadying breath. Maybe it was just a cruel joke they were playing on me, and no one would actually come to tear my skin off in strips.

Maybe.

A few hours later, my eyes were stinging and my shoulders and back were burning from being hunched over for so long, combing over every inch of that damn fireplace. It seemed like no matter how much I looked, there were always more and more lentils. I’d never eat another damn lentil in my life, I swore to myself over and over.

Every few minutes I’d glance nervously at the door. The guards hadn’t specified when the owner of the room was coming back, but as time stretched on I began to get more and more on edge. Every step in the hall outside made me jump, and I could have sworn the clock was ticking louder and louder with each passing moment as I searched frantically through the ashes, cursing. I kept one eye on the iron fire poker that sat in the stand next to the fireplace. Amarantha never said I couldn’t fight back, so at least if I died I would go down swinging.

Wouldn’t that just tickle Rhysand.

Gritting my teeth as I thought of the infuriating High Lord, I tried to pick through the ashes faster. My hands were black with soot, and my clothes were stained beyond repair. I could hardly see the tattoo on my left arm, now from all the soot, which gave me a strange sense of satisfaction, even as my heart raced against the clock.

I jumped nearly a foot in the air as the lock on the door suddenly clicked, and I whirled around, grabbing up the iron poker, backing against the wall as I hid it behind me.

Darkness flooded the bedroom, making the candles flutter from the invisible breeze. I gripped the poker tighter as the darkness began to coalesce on the bed and finally took a familiar form that made my shoulders lock up angrily.

“As much as I was missing you, Feyre, I must admit I find it a little odd for you to be rooting around in my fireplace,” Rhysand said, sprawling on the bed like a dark god in his chambers. “Do I even want to know?”

“I was told I had to clean a bunch of lentils out from the fireplace or the occupant of this room would tear me to ribbons,” I sniffed, setting the iron poker down in its stand with a resolute clang. I watched his eyebrows raise at that in amusement, but I continued before he could say anything. “Cauldron only knows why you spilled a couple hundred in there, but hey, to each their own.”

“Is that right?” A smile curled his lips that made my stomach flip again, and I suddenly wished I hadn’t been so hasty about putting down the iron poker.

“Was this your brilliant idea? All you had to do was come visit me in my suite downstairs if you wanted to see me so bad,” I sneered at him, crossing my arms over my chest before I remembered they were covered in soot. Damn. Now my clothes were really beyond saving. 

I knew I probably shouldn’t taunt Rhysand and give him more ammunition than he already had, but I was, for whatever reason, feeling more than a little reckless when it came to him. He already owned my time for a quarter of the rest of my life, and we’d… well. What more could he do? Clearly he meant to keep me alive, or it would have been a very idiotic deal for him to make.

“No, this wasn’t a stipulation of the bargain from me. I have far more _interesting_ things planned for you than having you bent over my fireplace all afternoon, though…” his face grew pensive as his eyes trailed down my body, and I resisted the urge to cover myself even as a flash of heat pulsed between my thighs. “Bent over… now, there’s an idea I like.” 

“Pig,” I muttered underneath my breath. His grin widened.

“Can you tell me _why_ there were lentils in my fireplace? I must admit to never having eaten one, if memory serves,” Rhysand asked, clearly fighting some sort of urge to laugh. I scowled at him.

“You know, that’s a great question, _High Lord._ Why _were_ there lentils in your fireplace? And why does Amarantha keep assigning me impossible chores? Is it some sort of sick game for you two?” I couldn’t tell what annoyed me more, Rhysand’s clear lack of concern being near me when I was so angry, or the fact that the angrier I grew, the more amused he seemed.

“Hmm,” he hummed, tapping his finger against his lower lip, which I certainly was not looking at. “I like it when you call me High Lord.”

I grimaced, ignoring the flip in my stomach. The sight of him against those sheets was wreaking havoc in my mind with the similarities to the visions he’d shown me in the Spring Court and the other night in my cell.

“Maybe she’s testing your loyalty,” I said, trying desperately to steer the conversation back on track. “You did bet on me during the first task, you were the only one…” I trailed off, my cheeks heating. No one else in the entirety of the court had bet on my survival, let alone my success except Rhysand. Was he really the only one rooting for me? 

The implications of that thought were too painful, so I shoved the feeling down.

“What could she possibly have to test me for?”

“You lied about Clare,” I shot back, ignoring the guilt suddenly twisting in my gut. “You and I both know you knew my name, well before I lied to you about it, but you still…” I swallowed. Rhysand sat up in a fluid movement and braced his forearms on his thighs, looking me over with an assessing gaze. It still amazed me how much grace he could move with, even when I knew how dangerous and violent he could get. _I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you even cut your teeth_ , he’d once said to Lucien. I didn’t doubt it for one minute.

“Amarantha plays her games.” He shrugged noncommittally. “And I play mine.”

“She…” I swallowed, ignoring the heat flushing my cheeks once more. “She let you out on Fire Night.”

I immediately regretted my words as his gaze flared with heat, a sultry smirk tilting up his lips.

“Indeed,” he murmured, his eyes raking down my form sending tendrils of heat curling through me. “And it was worth every convoluted excuse I had to give her.” Suddenly, all the teasing mirth was snuffed out of his eyes. “Do not think, Feyre, that it did not cost me.”

“Why?” I asked simply, and I knew I didn’t have to elaborate.

“I had my reasons,” he shrugged, looking me over again. I remembered something else, and leveled a glare at him.

“And the head? In the garden?”

“She requested that I do that, mostly to torment Tamlin since he scorned her,” he shrugged, but the levity didn’t reach his eyes. 

I stared at him for a long moment, confused. Was this really the bloodthirsty High Lord Tamlin had warned me about? He didn’t appear to be reveling in the bloodshed and mayhem Amarantha was causing. _Amarantha’s whore_ , Lucien’s voice echoed in my mind, and I shuddered. A powerful male such as Rhysand didn’t seem like the subservient type, or the type to be easily trapped. What was the real story?

“How is it that you still have so much power when everyone else is so limited?” I blurted out without thinking, and I at least got the satisfaction of seeing surprise flash in his eyes as he lifted a dark brow.

“This is but a remnant of my power, Feyre,” he drawled, and for the second time I felt the sensual caress of talon-tipped hands against my mind. I jumped against my will at the sensation. “These are the scraps I get to play with. Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting, mine is… let’s just say, a far deadlier assortment.”

I shivered, biting my lip. If this was just the dregs of Rhysand’s power… 

I had made such a mistake making a bargain with him.

“Can you shape shift, too?”

I grimaced internally as the next question left my lips against my better judgement. I’d already had a tryst and made a reckless bargain with the High Lord, why was I trying to get to know him?

I watched as the corner of his lips twitched, then he stood and began to change. Large, dark wings spread out behind him, and his fingernails shifted and became talons. I blinked, wondering if it were a trick of the light or if the impression of onyx scales really rippled over his skin for a moment. I blinked again and it was gone, but he had left the wings. 

I stared unabashedly at them for a long moment. There was no other word for them than magnificent.

They arched high above his shoulders, tipped in wickedly curved talons. They resembled something like bat wings, but the elegant arches seemed to be covered in those scales dipped in midnight I’d glimpsed on his skin. The membranes looked like velvet, and I wondered if they would feel just as soft. I couldn’t help but admire how the candle light shone through them, illuminating the veins.

He flared them slightly at my scrutiny, a smirk that was pure male satisfaction pulling at his lips.

“Enjoying the view?”

I blinked, shaking myself out of my reverie. “They’re… do you fly often?” I blurted out. Something shifted in his expression I couldn’t put my finger on, but then he shocked me by giving me a small, subdued smile.

“I used to fly all the time. It was my favourite way of getting around.” 

We stared at each other in silence for a moment while his words sunk in one by one. 

_All the monsters have been let out of their cages tonight._

Only caged things couldn’t fly.

Amarantha had taken all of the High Lord’s powers, including Rhysand’s, even though others called him her whore. I suspected it had been a very long time since Rhysand was last able to use his wings.

The memory of Lucien’s voice trickled into my mind from the morning Rhysand had come to visit the Spring Court.

_Other courts are being hit hard, though the Night Court, of course, remains unscathed._

It was almost like watching an elaborate shield crack and crumble away as the various pieces of information began to untwist and rearrange themselves in my mind. Rhysand watched, his face impassive, as if he were content to let me work out whatever it was I was thinking. I wondered if he was reading my mind while the world tilted and shifted on its axis, and the narrative unwound before me.

“Do you know the answer to the riddle?” I asked, my mouth feeling dry. I needed to get back on safer ground, needing to get my head in order, and it felt like the only question that came to mind that wouldn’t lead me down a rabbit hole—even if it was a bold question.

Rhysand let out a low laugh that inexplicably warmed my blood, shaking his head as he took a lazy step towards me. “Trying to cheat now, are we?”

“She never said I couldn’t ask for help,” I shrugged. Something wicked glinted in his gaze, almost like approval.

“You’re learning. Unfortunately, however, she ordered all of us not to help you after she had you beaten. Regardless of our bond, I can’t help you.”

I swallowed around the feeling that flipped in my chest at the word _bond_. It was too intimate.

Too intimate for being alone in a bedroom with him, with those dark sheets right there taunting me. 

I glanced back at the fireplace, heaving a sigh. “I have to finish this, or you might have to use those talons of yours to do some ribbon-cutting.”

Rhysand snorted, a noise very unlike a High Lord, and with a snap of his fingers the fireplace was clean, and the bucket filled to the brim with lentils. I glanced down, noticing that the soot had been cleared from my clothing and skin. I frowned at the sight of the tattoo covering my arm.

I glanced back up, and he was suddenly too close, his scent washing over me. It took every ounce of my willpower not to glance at the bed behind him as he reached down, grabbing my left hand in his. I fought a shiver as his calluses rasped against me, sending electric sparks dancing along my skin.

“A favour, if you would,” he began, tracing along one of the delicate lines that swirled around my palm. My breath hitched as I watched his finger as it moved over my skin. It felt much safer than meeting his gaze at that moment. 

“That depends on what it is,” I hedged, and a deep, sultry laugh rumbled from his chest. I shivered, the memory of the taste and feel of him on my lips invading my mind.

“Take care in whom you decide to trust here. Under the Mountain is a dangerous place, and those who would seem to help you may just be reporting back to her. If you need me,” he tapped the tattooed eye in the center of my palm, and my eyes widened as my head whipped up to stare at him in shock. “Just call me.” 

“Are you—” I began, outraged that my suspicions of him spying on me with that eye were correct, but at that moment the door swung open and the two guards who’d dragged me here stalked in. 

Rhysand waved a lazy hand to them. “She’s finished her task, but I’ve decided I will need her services for the rest of the day. You can go.”

The two guards scowled, about to protest but suddenly their mouths went slack, and their yellow eyes glazed over. Rhysand’s smile then was more feral and terrifying than I’d ever seen it. Even though it wasn’t directed it me, it still sent fear skittering down my spine. 

“When she returns, you are not to touch her. No more household chores, no more ridiculous tasks,” he said, his voice an erotic caress tinged with violence. “Tell the others as well. No one is allowed in her cell. If you disobey me, you are to take your own knives and gut yourselves, am I clear?”

The guards gave jerky, dazed nods, before leaving the room, closing the door behind them. Rhysand’s ability to bend minds to his will was horrifying, but for once I found myself thankful for it. Not that I would admit that to him. 

“What do you mean, services?” I bristled, turning to him then. I hadn’t forgotten the little spying thing, but that concern was quashed under the new wariness I felt. 

“Come,” he said, leading me to a small table with a few chairs. He waved his hand again, and suddenly it was covered with heaping plates of food, and two steaming mugs of something that smelled tart and delicious. “You need to eat.”

“I’m—” I began protesting, but he leveled a glare at me that made me stop short.

“You’re no use to me wasting away, and you’ll need your strength for whatever else she has planned for you,” he said, and began piling food high on my plate. I felt my stomach cramp with hunger at the mouth-watering aroma that wafted to me, and my protestations died on my lips.

“What will I owe for this?” I asked, sniffing cautiously at the mug. Was that… apple cider? 

“Hmm… It was going to be free of charge but now I suppose I must think of something,” he flashed me a grin, and I rolled my eyes, deciding to hell with it and dug in. I’d already sold my soul to him, what was a little more?

The first sip of the apple cider exploded across my tongue, and I couldn’t help the low groan that left my throat. When was the last time I had tasted something so delicious? I studiously ignored the way Rhysand’s eyes danced at the noise, another smug grin tugging at his lips. 

“I like that sound,” he murmured, and I almost choked on the mouthful of potatoes I had just bit into.

It took me a moment to swallow before I was glaring at him. “You are incorrigible.”

“Thank you,” he winked, and I tamped down on the urge to throw a piece of chicken at him. “No need to get violent, Feyre, darling. Plus, it’s not nice to play with your food.”

“Stop reading my mind!” I demanded, waving my fork threateningly at his face, earning a chuckle. 

“No, please, not the _fork,_ ” he pleaded sarcastically, holding up his hands in surrender. I scowled at him, pressing my lips together as I fought the urge to… smile?

I focused back on my food, frowning as the unreality of my situation sank in. It felt so bizarre, sitting here joking with Rhysand, when so much horror and death surrounded us. For a moment, just a small moment, I’d actually… forgotten.

Guilt settled into my stomach like a stone, and the food turned to ash in my mouth. Tamlin was Amarantha’s prisoner, and here I was, dining and joking with his enemy, with the High Lord who had made me bargain away my life to him, as if nothing were the matter.

What was wrong with me?

“I’d like to go back now,” I murmured, my cheeks blazing with shame.

“So eager to return to your cell?” Rhysand raised one dark brow, eyes narrowing at me.

I swallowed, and nodded. “Please.” 

Rhysand stared at me for a long moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Finish your food. Then I’ll send for the guards,” he finally said, and just like that the atmosphere grew tense and frosty once more. I felt guilty and ungrateful, then angry that those feelings were even filling me at his words. Confusion swirled around in my mind, and I ducked my head, trying to finish what was on my plate. 

“Get some rest tonight, Feyre. You need to regain your strength,” Rhysand finally said, standing. With a flick of his wrist the food was cleared away, and the door opened once more. I noticed the guards still wore that glazed expression, and I wondered for a moment how devastating Rhysand’s powers truly were if this was but a fraction.

I didn’t glance back at him as I walked out, and the guards didn’t dare lay their hands on me as they marched me back to my cell.

When I stepped inside, I stopped short. It took me a moment to realize, but the entire cell had been scrubbed clean, and a fresh mattress had been put in that didn't reek. I swallowed around the knot in my throat, and sat heavily down on it, knowing exactly who was behind the slight improvement in my accommodations. 

Guilt and anger warred within my chest as I curled up on my side, facing the wall. The lines between what I thought I knew and what was right in front of me were blurring, shifting, and I wasn't altogether sure what would happen, or what I would believe when I came out on the other side.


	5. Dancing With Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alright, this is the dubcon bit. ye be warned.
> 
> just gonna leave this here again -
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hYQuRV5blG4MkN0Rb8CLw?si=tqqg7XwlRl-ylhzaXvi9kg
> 
> Enjoy!

From that point on, every morning and night a hot meal would appear in my cell, always with a different drink accompanying it, and a large urn of clean water. At first it was another mug of warm apple cider, then squeezed orange juice, and so on. On the third morning since I’d seen Rhysand, a hot mug of coffee appeared with my breakfast and I wanted to weep with joy, even as a small kernel of guilt festered in my chest at the feeling. The meals were nothing special in and of themselves, but the extra treats seemed to give me that much more strength, that much more hope. It didn’t escape my notice that every time the guards came to take the trays out of my cell, the empty mugs had mysteriously gone missing.

Rhysand didn’t come to see me, nor did I see Lucien or anyone else. As every day passed, I realized that if it hadn’t been for the High Lord of the Night Court, I would have actually died from the infection that had ravaged my arm. That truth sat heavily in my chest, and as I felt my strength slowly return with the regular meals, my mind grew even more unsettled. There was an agenda to everything he did, and I couldn’t even begin to fathom the games he was orchestrating. He was an unfathomably old High Lord who’d had fifty long years—almost three times my lifespan, to work out a plan. Now he was risking discovery by helping me, and that fact did not escape my notice.

I tried to distract myself from those thoughts by reciting Amarantha’s riddle to myself, but I only succeeded in giving myself a pounding headache. Between that and the never ending screams echoing through the dungeons, I found myself spending my time studying the tattoo, tracing the lines over and over until I had it practically memorized. Every so often I would catch myself saying random sarcastic comments meant for Rhysand to the eye tattooed on my palm, then immediately flush with embarrassment, feeling foolish. I couldn’t tell if he was actually listening, or what he would think, but no answer came, and so more times than not I would simply sit there, and wonder what was happening in the caverns above me. 

The next day, I was startled out of my reverie as two High Fae females appeared abruptly in my cell. They seemed to melt out of the darkness much like Rhysand had, but instead of solidifying as he had, they remained mostly wreathed in shadow. 

They each held out a silent hand to me, and I only hesitated a moment before placing both of my hands in theirs. There was no way for me to resist or fight them, and I figured they were servants of Rhysand’s if the shadows were anything to go by. Their skin felt cool, but solid, and I was surprised when the quiet sort of peace that seemed to emanate from their shadows surrounded and calmed me. 

They led me forward, pressing close to me, and I almost balked as they pulled me through the cell door as if it wasn’t there. A glance down showed me how my body had turned shadowy like theirs, and I marveled at the shivery sensation fluttering over my skin. They continued on, not missing a beat as we passed various cells that held the screaming occupants I heard all day and night. I tried my best not to look to either side of me, but still something ached in my chest as we went by.

They silently urged me on past the guards, and I was shocked when none of them looked up, or even seemed to notice us. It was like we were utterly invisible, and for all I knew we were. It was a tantalizing prospect, especially when I so desperately wanted to escape.

The High Fae brought me through dusty, abandoned halls and staircases, before finally leading me into a room that was tucked away in a forgotten corner, and clearly hadn’t been used in a very long time.

I glanced at the gentle steam curling from the full tub in the bathing chamber, and sighed with want. The shadow Fae helped me undress, then undertook the gargantuan task of bathing me. Tears pricked at my eyes as they worked diligently to untangle the painful knots in my hair, but I had to admit the warm water felt heavenly. Even with the slightly rough scrubbing they had to do to clean my skin, I felt myself drifting as the warmth seeped into my tired, aching muscles, the smell of bergamot and jasmine wafting around me from the soap they were rinsing me with. 

They dried me off with a wave of their fingers, then brought out a large, roughly-hewn stone mortar and pestle full of dark blue paint, and I blanched.

“I… what is that?” I asked. Whispery giggles were my only answer as the Fae picked up brushes, and instructed me to hold my arms out to my sides. Then, they began to paint me.

 _Everywhere_.

The brushes were cold and ticklish, and I couldn’t help but squirm when they began to paint more intimate parts of me. What in the Cauldron’s name was this for? Had Amarantha dreamt up some fresh torture for me? Or was this a certain High Lord’s doing.

I blushed furiously at the thought of why Rhysand would need my entire naked body painted, and I swiftly shoved those thoughts from my mind, but not before the visions with the dark sheets managed to flicker through my mind, only this time I was wearing the paint in them.

_So beautiful So perfect when you—_

_Stop. Don’t think about it._

I glanced in the large, ornately framed looking glass they had leaned against the wall in front of me, and I was shocked by what I saw. Above the neck I looked… pretty. Beautiful, even, with the shimmering golden dust around my eyes and deeply rouged lips. They even applied some black paste to my eyelashes that darkened and lengthened them attractively. The effect was startling. They meticulously dried my hair before coiling it around a delicate gold and lapis lazuli diadem. 

Once the dark blue paint had dried, they draped a long, gauzy dress over me, though it could hardly be called that. Two strips of gossamer fabric draped over my breasts creating a scandalously low neckline, where they joined together to create one piece of fabric that hung in front of my legs. The back was much the same, doing little to fully cover my rear. It was held together at the shoulders by golden brooches, and a delicate golden belt that matched my crown cinched the waist. So much of my skin was exposed that my skin pimpled in gooseflesh at the cool draft in the room, and I frowned at myself in the mirror.

I looked like a heathen god’s plaything. A dark queen ready to ascend.

“I don’t suppose you could give me pants and a sweater instead,” I asked dryly, and was met with more whispering giggles. Suppose not, then.

“Why would they when taking that off of you would be a veritable sin?” A dark, purring voice rumbled from behind me, and I whirled around, glaring at the source of this new torture.

“I am not wearing this,” I snapped, moving to tug at the sleeve but at the way his eyes brightened in anticipation I halted. There was no way I was stripping in front of him.

Oh, Cauldron. I was so exposed. He could see _everything_.

“Yes, yes you are,” he hummed, striding closer to me as heat flared in his eyes that raked over my form. 

“I seem to recall that our bargain hasn’t exactly started, yet,” I reminded him, crossing my arms over my breasts in an effort to hide them.

“True, but I need an escort for the party tonight. Besides, how else am I supposed to ensure no one else touches you?” He reached out a hand, smearing a long line of the paint along my collarbone, making me shiver at his warm touch. As soon as he lifted his finger, the paint magically rearranged itself. He was standing so close I could smell his bergamot, citrus, and ocean scent, the heat of his body beating against my much-too exposed skin, reminding me too much of Fire Night, and the kiss we’d shared in my cell. 

“This is so unnecessary,” I growled, and he gave a dark chuckle, adjusting the diadem on my head ever so slightly. 

“The dress won’t mar the paint, and neither will your movements. I’ll know exactly where my hands have been, as well,” he purred, trailing his finger from the dip of my throat down my chest to between my breasts, smearing more paint. Heat flushed my face, and my heart rate began pounding in my throat. “But if anyone else touches you— for example, a certain High Lord who enjoys buttercups and roses—I’ll know, and be able to rectify the situation immediately. And Feyre,” he placed a finger underneath my chin, lifting it so I had to meet his deep, violet eyes. The stars seemed to dance in them, making me dizzy. “I don’t like my belongings tampered with.”

_No other can have you. Not even if they try._

I narrowed my eyes at him, hating the way my stomach flipped at his words, something warm curling through my blood and settling low in my abdomen. My fists clenched at my sides, and I could tell by the smug curl of his lips he knew exactly what he was doing to me, and how I hated that he could.

“Come, Feyre, we’re late.”

We strode along the hall, and it was everything I could do not to let my teeth chatter. The cold stone made my feet ache as well, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Rhysand. My heart hammered in my chest, and I felt horribly self-conscious that all of the Fae would see me like this: vulnerable, and exposed for their leering gazes. 

Strange, pulsing music like I’d heard on Calanmai filtered through the halls, as well as laughter and shrieks of merriment. I recognized the arched doors we were heading towards and I faltered, but Rhysand just put a hand on my lower back briefly, urging me forward. _The throne room. No, no, anywhere but here._

We walked close enough for everyone to know we were together. My stomach dropped at the thought of Tamlin seeing me like this.

As we entered the hall, the Fae we passed gawked openly at us, some of them bowing to Rhysand, others merely leered at me just as I knew they would. I spotted Lucien’s brothers gathered by the doors, and their savage grins at the sight of me were positively vulpine.

Rhysand didn’t touch me as we walked into the throne room, and I tried to glance around subtly to see if I could see Lucien in the crowd. I was thankful when I couldn’t spot him. I could feel the tattoo on my arm like a brand, like a beacon, and Rhysand’s proximity alone was enough to stake ownership. I didn’t want to see Lucien’s anger and disappointment when he realized what I’d done.

We made our way to the dais that held Amarantha’s throne, and my heart redoubled its efforts to pound its way out of my chest. My hands felt sweaty and clammy, and the weight of the crown dug into my head, as damning as a collar and leash.

 _Chin up,_ Rhysand’s low voice rumbled in my head, and I obeyed without objection, knowing he was right. I needed to appear strong and unbroken. I couldn’t let any weakness be used against me.

My gaze rose, and my stomach dropped as I saw Tamlin seated beside Amarantha.

“Well… isn’t this a surprise. What have you done with my prisoner, Rhysand?” Amarantha said, her gaze was laced with disgust and contempt as she took me in. She wore a deep lavender and orchid-purple gown, her hand resting on Tamlin’s knee that was clothed in a similar fabric. My heart gave a painful throb at the sight, but seeing the way Tamlin was gripping the arms of his throne with white knuckles, his face a cold, stony mask, he wasn’t feeling much better about the sight of me.

“Merry Midsummer.” Rhysand swept a deep bow to Amarantha, flashing a lazy grin towards Tamlin. “We made a little bargain,” he said casually after he straightened. I swallowed hard as he turned to me, trailing the backs of his fingers down my cheek to my throat. A gentle caress, but there was no denying the possessiveness in it. The throne room fell utterly silent as he spoke the next words directly to Tamlin. “One week with me in the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services for a particularly nasty wound after the first trial.” His right hand caught my left one, holding it up so the tattoo was easily visible. “For the rest of her life,” he added in a purr, his gaze now on Amarantha. 

Tamlin’s gaze shuttered, and I wanted to run to him and scream _I did it for you!,_ but Amarantha had straightened, and it seemed even Jurien’s eye was trained on Rhysand at the unspoken challenge in his words. He was all but declaring that I would survive the trials. That he wanted me to succeed.

Rhysand had told me he was playing games, and I began to realize just how far out of my depth I was. I wasn’t sure how thrilled I was to be a pawn in the crossfire, either. 

I stared with bated breath at the cruel turn of Amarantha’s lips. She gave Rhysand an assessing look, but after a long, uncomfortable moment she glanced at Tamlin, then back at my state of half-dress standing next to Rhysand, and grinned.

“Enjoy the party,” she cooed, her only reply as her sharpened nails scraped lightly over Tamlin’s thigh, higher and higher. I saw red, but Rhysand was pressing a hand to the small of my back, turning me quickly away. I tore my gaze away from what her hand was doing, and followed him. Hot, poisonous anger stirred in my chest, stealing through my veins as the image of her nails on Tamlin’s thigh played over and over in my head.

Rhysand led me to the side of the room where a large chair was, a gathering of what were obviously Night Court Fae nearby. They all bowed to Rhysand, and I was surprised that shadows didn’t drape around them like they did for him and his servants. 

Rhysand procured a goblet of wine after a few minutes and offered it to me. Alis’ first warning echoed in my mind, and I shook my head. The beat of the music had changed into something darker, more sensual, though still somehow eerie and off-kilter.

“You’re going to want some. It’s going to be a long night,” he gave me a pointed look, and I swallowed nervously.

“What will it do?” 

He looked at me for a long moment. “It’ll loosen your inhibition, and make you care less about what happens tonight. I can help you not remember, if that’s what you would prefer.”

“Why?” My heart was beating in my throat now. What did he want me to do that I might prefer to forget?

“Like I said, there are games we must play, and this is one of them,” he murmured so quietly I barely heard him over the throbbing music, and he offered me the wine again.

“I don’t want to forget,” I whispered, staring into the burgundy depths as he pressed the goblet into my hand.

Maybe it was because I felt nauseous being so close to Tamlin when I was with Rhysand, maybe it was because all the leering stares from the Fae were making my skin crawl, but I lifted the goblet to my lips with shaking hands, and drank deep.

The instant the taste hit my tongue I gasped. It tasted like sunsets, midnight fires, jasmine, and something darker, more provocative. A thousand fireflies played over my skin, and when I met Rhysand’s gaze, the violet of his eyes suddenly appeared layered, fractaled like cut amethysts. I watched the stars flare and dance in them as he took the goblet from me, turning it so he drank from the same place my lips had touched.

 _Oh, Cauldron_. His beauty was utterly devastating. My gaze trailed over the strong, elegant lines of his face, the sensual curve of his lips. I remembered how it had felt to be held in his arms, the hard feel of his thigh between my legs, the pleasure that had driven me out of my mind, and I wanted.

I was so tired of not wanting.

“Dance for me, Feyre,” he murmured, pulling me back towards the chair. He sat, lounging like the lazy dark god he was, his eyes full of midnight flames as he watched me. My head began to spin, and I felt the ebb and flow of the music tug through me, the drums heating my blood like they had on Calanmai. 

I’d never danced before, but suddenly it didn’t matter. I felt the pounding music move through me, and I let my hips begin to sway. My fingertips dragged up my exposed sides, curling around my breasts before drifting over my collarbones, and up into the air. 

Things seemed to fade and blur around me, and suddenly it was like all the doors of my mind were opened, a veil that had been blurring my vision removed. My body knew exactly which way to move, and I let it take hold, never dropping my gaze from Rhysand’s. He drew me closer, tugging on the gossamer cloth that felt like soft rainfall against my skin. I could feel every draft of air on my sensitized skin, hear every strange layered sound of the music weave through my mind, and I shivered with pleasure. Everything felt so much better than it usually did. Every sound, every scent, every touch was magnified by thousands.

At the first touch of Rhysand’s fingers on my thighs I gasped. It felt like kisses of starlight, like hundreds of rose petals dragging along my skin, sending sparks fizzing and dancing throughout my whole body. 

“So beautiful,” he purred in his deep, lover’s voice, and I felt it vibrate through me, straight to my core. 

“Rhysand,” I whispered, shivering as he stroked my skin again, sending a thousand flames rippling over me. My fingers tangled in my hair as I rolled my body before him, and moaned at the exquisite sensation of my nails against my scalp. It was so good. Everything felt so good.

“Such a good girl, dancing for me,” he hummed, his hand skimming over my thigh to caress the curve of my rear, and I bit my lip, heat pooling between my thighs at the sensation, incessant and demanding. “Drink, Feyre. I want you to keep feeling good,” he cajoled, holding the goblet to my lips again.

Time seemed to blur, and the next thing I knew Rhysand had pulled me onto the chair, my knees braced on either side of his thighs as I moved above him with slow, rolling gyrations of my hips, my hands on his knees behind me. His fingers dug into my hips, and he watched every movement with a lustful, half-lidded gaze. Just an inch lower and I’d be pressed against him. I wanted it, wanted to feel like I had on Fire Night all those months ago, wanted to feel him, but Rhysand held me where I was, smirking like he knew how badly I wanted what he was denying me.

After what felt like an eternity of torture, Rhysand turned me around, pulling me back so I was seated on his lap. I gasped at the sensation of having him fully pressed against my back, and I shivered. He shifted, and suddenly my legs were draped on either side of one of his. I bit back a whimper as the material of his trousers scraped against my all but exposed core. A thousand glittering sparks of pleasure raced through me like butterflies in a breeze at the touch. I dug my nails into his forearms as he wrapped them around me, pulling me tighter against him.

“You smell so good, Feyre. Someday I’m going to taste all that sweet cream weeping from between your thighs, and I’m going to make you scream as you come on my tongue,” he growled in my ear, and I bit back a cry, feeling my core spasm and clench just at his words. I felt so close to release, and he’d barely touched me. 

_It was all I could do not to rip off your clothes and fuck you against that tree on Calanmai, did you know that? How badly I wanted you?_

I moaned as his deep voice vibrated in my mind, making me think of dark chocolate and ruby red wine. He was everything decadent and wicked in this world, pleasure and death incarnate. A dark god in his own right.

His fingers were rubbing slow, lazy circles as they trailed up my thigh, and I felt a gush of wetness leak from my core at the sparkling, heady pleasure it sent cascading through me. His breath on my throat was a thousand feathers, the heat of his body a flame, and I was the song woven throughout it, bending to his every will.

_I’m going to crown you in jewels and worship you with my tongue, my hands, my cock. There won’t be an inch of you I do not touch, do not possess. You will be mine. All mine._

My back arched as I moaned at his words, my thighs spreading more as his hand that had been trailing dangerously close to the underside of my breast moved to my hip, pressing down. 

Oh, Cauldron. It was so good. I tilted my head back, our cheeks brushing together as I circled my hips, grinding down on his hard thigh.

 _Mine, Feyre_. _You are mine._

I felt a frisson of pleasure curl through me when his canine nipped at my exposed throat, and my eyes rolled back into my head as I submitted, utterly and completely.

Was it hours later? Or minutes? I was dancing before Rhysand again, feeling his talon-tipped hands rake down my mind, but there was no pain, no fear. Only shuddering ecstasy as I lost myself in heady, pulsing music, the feel of him wrapping around my soul. I scraped my nails against my scalp, a kaleidoscope of colours cascading through my vision. I tossed my head back, staring at the ceiling which was hewn rock covered in strange, glowing lights, now a starry city by the water, now an endless night sky streaked with stars broken only by a crown of jagged, snow-capped mountains. I breathed deeply of pine and snow, feeling the kiss of snowflakes against my skin, the raging heat of a bonfire licking against my skin, warming me as I let my body writhe like a flame itself. Every inch of my skin was alight with heat and pleasure.

_Goddess of Night. Queen. Empress of all._

I opened my eyes to meet Rhysand’s sensual gaze, and an intoxicated smile pulled at my lips. _We would make the world kneel at our feet_ , I purred, feeling drunk on the dark power emanating from him.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

I blinked and I was back on Rhysand’s lap with my back against his front, my hips rolling to the beat of the drums as he dragged his teeth over the junction of my throat and shoulder. I blinked again and we were pressed together, and he was dancing behind me to the dark, pulsing music, the hard line of his desire grinding into my rear. I moaned at the feeling, my nails pricking the backs of his hands which were stained with paint as they dragged over my exposed sides, the swell of my hips, the tops of my thighs. Visions flickered through my mind’s eye, and I surrendered to his touch, to him.

I lost myself to the cacophony of light and ecstasy and darkness, and through it all amethyst eyes watched me hungrily, like they would devour everything I was. 

I wasn’t sure I didn’t want them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* is it hot in here? or is it this picture that is now Rhysand in my mind's eye forever: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d0/75/ed/d075ede4ff8bd270ea7544d965355e9f.jpg 
> 
> i guess we'll never know :D
> 
> also, if you've ever tripped on acid or shrooms... you'll know what Feyre was feeling XD I figured the Fae wine would have her feeling some type of way and probably see the fractals and stuff. just my interpretation! lol


	6. The Court of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***ATTENTION*** hella dubcon!!!! just assume like, from now on it's gonna be... yeah.
> 
> as always, my song recommendation for this chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/1TBYoKmgLjB9UkjNPQLMza?si=_m1PHh-TSa2rnpYjcP-o_g

I woke up the next morning in my cell feeling queasy, my memories of the night vague and muddled. Although I still wore the dress from the night before, I was warm.

A quick glance down showed me the source of that warmth- a sumptuous, midnight dark cloak was draped over me. The scent alone told me whose it was, and heat flushed my cheeks. I tried desperately to remember the details of what had happened, but it was like trying to recall the events of a dream, and only vague impressions came through. 

I did remember one thing, though. The sight of amethyst eyes locked on mine, a smirk pulling up sensual lips. I lifted the cloak, and my cheeks heated at the amount of paint that was smudged on my body. Had we…?

“Good morning.” 

I jumped violently as the deep voice interrupted my embarrassed perusal of my body, and I came face to face with the main star of my foggy memories.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t make me forget,” I hissed, pulling the edges of the cloak to cover myself, though I supposed there was no use. He’d already seen almost all there was to see. 

Rhysand’s grin was unapologetic. “I can’t control the effects of the Faerie wine on a mortal, but if you’d like to remember…”

_A vision of me writhing on Rhysand’s thigh, grinding my rear into his impressive length as his nails scraped the tops of my thighs, refusing to stray any further to where I really wanted them as I whimpered, my back arching..._

“Oh, Cauldron,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. My cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

“You did very well, Feyre. I came to tell you that unfortunately your presence has been requested at our gatherings moving forward,” his gaze trailed over me, and even though my body was covered, heat and self-consciousness still flooded through me.

“You’re joking,” I gritted my teeth. I would have to do what we’d done last night? Over and over?

“I regret to inform you that I’m not. It would seem Calanmai was good practice for this, hmm?” he teased, eyes sparking with humour and latent heat.

“I hate you,” I muttered. His smirk only widened.

“Given that there’s several weeks until your next trial, my priority is that you remain in possession of your faculties and don’t lose your strength. Faerie wine is, regrettably, not conducive to healthy mortal constitutions, so here,” he handed me a glass of a swirling turquoise liquid, and I frowned at it doubtfully. “This will help you recover in the mornings.”

“Why can’t I just not drink the wine?” I protested, holding the glass away from me like it might explode in my hand, or bite me. Hadn’t Alis specifically told me not to drink anything wine or potions here?

Rhysand raised a dark brow at my reluctance. “Because, dear Feyre, I’m sure you know by now the game we’re playing.”

I grimaced. The harlot of Amarantha’s whore. That’s what I’d become—the mortal who’d foolishly sold her soul to the High Lord of the Night Court, and now got to be paraded around like the conquest I was in front of Tamlin, the male who I’d come here to save.

I hated that I hadn’t foreseen this particular consequence of my deal. Something else occurred to me, then, and my stomach flipped. 

The Faerie wine seemed to toss all inhibitions out the window, and if the memory Rhysand had shown me was any indication, it was only going to get worse. 

_Cauldron, what had I gotten myself into?_

“Drink it, Feyre. You can thank me later,” Rhysand smirked, then disappeared in a ripple of shadow. 

I sighed, staring down at the glass in my hand. Cauldron only knew what sort of potion this was, and my reluctance to drink it was only outweighed by my desire to get rid of the residual nausea I felt. Rhysand hadn’t killed or poisoned me yet, so I knew it wouldn’t be dangerous in that aspect, but if the Faerie wine could mess with my mind so easily, there was no telling what something like this could do to me.

I heaved a sigh of defeat after a few long minutes, finally lifting it to my lips when the door creaked, and a familiar fox mask poked around the corner, grimacing.

“It’s damn cold down here,” Lucien said, sliding carefully into my cell and closing the door silently. His eyes landed on the glass in my hand and widened. “What is that?”

“It’s supposed to make me feel better after the Faerie wine,” I said, glancing back down at it.

His lip curled over his teeth. “Did Rhysand give you that?”

My cheeks flamed, and I ducked my head, chewing the inside of my cheek before nodding. 

“Feyre… why didn’t you wait for me?” Lucien asked, sitting down beside me and taking the glass from my hand. He sniffed it, gave a reluctant huff, then handed it back to me. 

Guess it was safe to drink, then.

“I was dying, Lucien. He didn’t lie, it was a really awful wound, and it was infected. I had a fever, I probably would have been gone in a few hours, if not a day or so if he hadn’t come to help me. What was I supposed to do?”

“I would have helped you, you know I would have,” he persisted, but I shook my head.

“I would have been dead by now. Plus, you said you hesitated with the naga.”

“I swore an oath to Tamlin—”

“And I was out of options,” I cut him off. 

“Do you even understand who Rhysand is? What he is?” he demanded.

“Of course I do!” I cried, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “He’s ‘Amarantha’s whore’, the High Lord of the Night Court, the big bad himself, the reason Spring Court children are afraid to misbehave or he’ll come eat them,” I finished sarcastically, and I could have sworn I heard a low chuckle echo in my mind. I glared at the eye tattooed on my palm. _Butt out._

_I only eat sassy blue-eyed mortal women, I’ll have you know._

_Oh, lucky me._

“It’s too late now, besides,” I sighed after a beat. “You don’t have to hold to whatever oath Tamlin made you swear to protect me, or feel like you owe me for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to see the look on your smarmy brothers’ faces.”

We were silent for a long pause, and I finally mustered enough bravery to take a sip of the drink Rhysand had given me. Warmth bloomed through my chest as I swallowed it, and the nausea that had been roiling in my stomach settled. It tasted like honeysuckle and something sharp, like ginger. Not altogether unpleasant.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Lucien said quietly, staring down at his feet. “I’m sure you heard what Amarantha did after the first trial. She held back my healing with her—with our powers. I was only able to move around today.”

I flinched, shaking my head. Lucien had suffered for helping me. I wouldn’t forget that.

“Did…” My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard. “Did Tamlin see? Last night?”

Lucien nodded, and my heart sank into my stomach. “Rhysand was only doing it to get a rise out of him.”

“Did it work?” I asked, my voice small.

Lucien gave an awkward nod, and I squeezed my eyes shut in mortification.

“He didn’t show it, though,” Lucien assured me, and I nodded, leaning forward to put my head between my knees. Thanks to the drink my nausea had passed, but now dread and sadness pooled heavily in my gut.

“Rhysand said it’s going to continue, that my presence was ‘requested’ from now on,” I sighed, dangling the empty glass in an idle circle between my knees as I thought of the nights to come.

“Bastard,” Lucien growled.

 _I heard that_ , Rhysand’s deep voice rumbled through my mind again.

 _Literally? No one asked you_ , I sniped back, earning another long, low chuckle that made my blood warm.

“I have to go, the guards are about to change,” Lucien sighed, standing up with a muted groan. I winced in sympathy at the pain he must be in. I watched as he paused by the door, turning back to me. “Be careful, Feyre. You can’t trust him.”

“See you later,” I said miserably.

The two shadowy High Fae females came to escort me from my cell again that night, and I let myself sink into the hot bath as they scrubbed the old paint from me. The process was faster this time since I’d been freshly bathed the night before, and I let my mind wander as the cool, soft touch of their brushes trailed over my skin. 

They dressed me in a sheer black fabric this time, the same cut and cloth of the previous night’s dress, and adorned me in a delicate silver crown of raw quartz and polished sapphires. Silver coils adorned my upper arms, and they added matching bangles to my wrists and ankles. 

“Stunning,” Rhysand purred behind me as he appeared in the doorway. I rolled my eyes, moving to follow him as he ushered me out.

Scandalized whispers filtered throughout the throne room as we entered, and I couldn’t help but glance towards the dais as soon as it came into view. What I saw made my stomach drop painfully.

Amarantha was perched on Tamlin’s lap, her clawed fingertips carding through his golden hair as she laughed at something a courtier said. Her eyes met mine and her lips curled up in a cruel smile.

I drank even more Fae wine that night.

Every subsequent night got a little worse, along with my hangover the next day as it took more and more Faerie wine to send myself into a blissful ignorance where I stopped thinking of the way Amarantha’s hands rubbed over Tamlin. After a few nights she started having him come without a shirt on. Scores of red scratch marks covered his chest from her attentions, and something poisonous and heavy settled into my chest at the sight. Night after night she seemed to try harder to get a rise out of me, so I ended up drinking more Faerie wine, and the awful cycle continued. Thankfully, I always had a glass of the shimmering turquoise liquid waiting for me every morning that would help revive me.

I almost wondered if she and Rhysand were in some sort of competition, because every morning I woke up more and more paint on my body seemed to be smudged. I caught a glimpse of myself in the looking glass one night and saw the paint from the previous night was all but obliterated up and down my back and the curves of my rear. I didn’t miss the wicked amusement flaring in the eyes of the shadow maidens as they beheld it.

On a particularly awful night where Amarantha had sucked multiple dark marks onto Tamlin’s neck, I’d drunk so much Faerie wine that I was seeing strange patterns breathe and flutter over different surfaces, rainbow colours pulsing through them. It had done the trick, though, and I was no longer thinking of Tamlin, no longer feeling the acidic anger slowly eat away at my insides. 

Rhysand and I ended up on a chaise lounge, his fingers curling around the backs of my thighs right below my rear as I danced above him, every shift in the air against my skin a delicious sensation. My mind was awash with pleasure and heat, the music pulsing against my skin as I arched my back, rolling my hips slow and suggestively. The vision he’d shown me in the Spring Court of him on his back as I writhed above him flickered through my thoughts, and I smirked, moving a little lower.

_Careful, Feyre, darling._

Rhysand’s eyes were amethyst flames as my movement made his fingers slip a dangerous inch higher. I raised a brow, resting my hands against his chest as I let my nails prick the cloth, an echo of the vision he’d sent me. 

And damn it all to hell, Rhysand rose to my silent challenge, curling his fingertips around to my inner thighs and stroking them a little higher. A dull roar filled my ears as sensation slammed through me. My body went loose and tight all at once, and damn it all again—the scent of him, the power rolling off of him, muted as it was, still made me shudder. Heat pulsed in my core, sharp and insistent as my eyelids fluttered shut. I felt like an inferno, like a living flame in his grasp, and if I wasn’t careful I was going to burn myself into ash.

Another pass of his fingers brought him dangerously close to the wetness pooling between my thighs, and I felt my breasts tighten, the cool-rain fabric of my dress rasping against the over-sensitized tips, making me moan quietly.

I tried to shift away subtly to keep him from feeling the damning evidence of my arousal, but the Faerie wine had made my grasp on my equilibrium tenuous at best, and my knee slipped just as Rhysand brushed his fingers a little too high up my thighs. 

Lightning hot pleasure speared through me as his fingers accidentally brushed against the hot slickness of my core, and I barely bit back a cry. Rhysand immediately stilled, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as they flickered down to where his hands had stopped short. 

I bit back a whimper, one part of my mind railing against everything happening while the other part of my mind zeroed in with singular focus where his fingertips hovered over my hot, aching center.

 _Feyre,_ his voice was a dark growl in my mind, and before I could blink we were back in the room where I had spent hours cleaning out lentils from the fireplace. 

I shuddered as my back landed against the cool, silky sheets. Rhysand stood at the foot of the bed, stars dancing and pulsing dangerously in his deep violet eyes.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered without preamble. Darkness gathered in the corners of the rooms, as if the might of his power was barely being held at bay.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I shook my head, trembling with the effects of the lust pounding through me. 

“Do it now, Feyre. Or I will,” he snarled, every line of his face tight with desire. I whimpered as the dark rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate through my whole body. 

One of my hands moved to cup an aching, heavy breast, brushing my fingers over the taut nipple. I gasped, my back arching off the bed as sparks of pleasure spread through me at the touch like a thousand little flames licking over my skin, heating it. Rhysand watched with predatory intent as my other hand trailed slowly down my stomach, my nails gently scraping the exposed skin there. I could hardly believe myself as my knees bent and spread, my fingers teasing dangerously close to their destination.

“Show me how you like your nipples played with,” Rhysand demanded, his voice a harsh rasp. I bit my lip, letting my forefinger and thumb roll and pull at the hard tip. I cried out as shards of sensation arced straight through me, as if there was a direct line connected to my core.

“Lower,” he growled. I glanced at his hands that were gripping the bedposts with white knuckles, his gaze was locked on my fingers that were edging down my stomach. I gave him a lazy, lust-addled smile, pleased that he was so clearly affected by me, and finally, finally let my fingers brush against my straining clit.

My lips parted in a ragged gasp as excruciating pleasure curled through me, the effects of the Faerie wine heightening it to an almost unbearable level. 

_Good girl,_ Rhysand’s dark voice purred in my mind, and my hips twitched off the bed at his words, a small whimper tearing from my throat. I rubbed small, teasing circles over my clit, meeting his heavy gaze as I remembered the straining hardness I’d felt grind against me the past few nights when we danced.

A muscle twitched violently in Rhysand’s jaw, and I heard the wood groan beneath his hands as I began to speed up my fingers. My hips churned and rolled beneath my ministrations, and I didn’t bother hiding the whimpers and moans that escaped from my lips. 

_Slide a finger into your pussy, Feyre. I want to watch you fuck yourself._

“Oh, gods,” I gasped, a gush of wetness seeping from my core at his words. I pulled the material of my dress to the side, and felt a distant, smug satisfaction at the way Rhysand’s eyes glazed over with lust, the wood groaning and cracking beneath his fingertips.

A broken moan tore from my lips as I sunk a finger deep into my aching core, spreading my ankles wider as I began working it inside of me, my other hand still alternating between rubbing and tugging at my nipples, and squeezing my breasts. The sensations crashing through me were almost too much, and I panted, writhing on the bed as heat and pleasure began to build, coiling low in my abdomen. 

_Rub your clit while you fuck yourself. Add another finger. Deeper. Fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl._ Rhysand’s voice was a constant, heady growl in my head, and I tossed my head back, following every instruction. My thighs shuddered as my release began to build, my broken cries growing louder. 

“ _Rhysand_ ,” I sobbed his name, my hips stuttering as it became too much.

“Don’t stop, Feyre. Come for me. _Now_ ,” Rhysand ordered, suddenly braced above me as his fingers curled around my throat, squeezing ever so slightly, and I shattered.

White hot ecstasy poured through me as I screamed, my core clenching and spasming around my thrusting fingers as my release tore through me, obliterating me. A deep, animalistic growl tore out of Rhysand’s chest, his fractaled amethyst eyes burning into mine. I shuddered, my free hand flying up to dig my nails into his shoulder. I felt his fingers wrap around my other wrist, and I watched, completely wrecked as he brought my fingers to his lips, taking them into the hot depths of his mouth so he could suck the taste of me off them. I moaned wantonly at the debauchery of the action, and the last thing I remembered was the scent of bergamot, citrus, and ocean washing over me before a deep, heavy darkness pulled me down.

-

I awoke the next morning, feeling like something inside my head was taking a sledgehammer to the walls of my skull. I moaned, my fingers pressing into my temples, shoving my face into the pillow.

Wait, pillow?

I shot straight up, then immediately regretting the action as a wave of nausea roiled through me. I staggered off the giant bed I’d woken in, running to the door I could see opened into a bathing chamber, and immediately vomited into the toilet.

After a moment I felt cool fingers gather my hair behind my head, and for a few minutes my body was too occupied with wretching for me to turn my head and see who it was. 

My skin felt clammy, and I groaned, pressing my face into the cool porcelain of the seat. 

“You drank too much Faerie wine last night,” a familiar, deep voice said behind me. 

Electricity shot through my body, and this time the memories were crystal clear as they flooded through me of what had transpired last night.

_Oh, Cauldron. No._

Rhysand handed me a cup filled with something that smelled sharply of spearmint, and I rinsed my mouth with it several times until I could no longer taste my emesis. I took a few deep breaths, then finally worked up the courage to look at him.

Cauldron help me. His raven black hair was mussed, his violet eyes a little bleary from sleep. His sculpted chest was bare, and he wore a pair of soft black pants slung low on his hips. The effect was devastating. My eyes widened as I took in the intricate tattoos that arced over his shoulders, meeting under the hollow of his throat, before flying back up to his face, feeling a stab of heat blended with mortification pierce through me.

_Oh, Cauldron. I had…_

Wait.

I’d woken up on a bed.

My eyes widened in panic, shooting back towards the damning piece of furniture. I scrambled away from him, my back hitting the cold stone wall of the bathing chamber, and Rhysand scoffed, a playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Don’t worry, darling. Nothing happened. I prefer my women awake and eager participants when I take them to bed,” his said, eyes sparkling with mischief. I gaped at him. Cauldron, had he slept next to me? Did anyone know I wasn’t in the dungeons? Had anyone seen…?

“I… I…” my face flamed as I remembered what I’d done in front of him, writhing and coming apart at my own touch as he’d watched.

Rhysand’s violet eyes flashed with heat, his gaze trailing slowly over me. “Yes, well. I would have been remiss to let you suffer when you were so badly in need. I’m always happy to provide a little extra… _encouragement_.”

I slapped my hands over my face, groaning. “Stop, please.”

Rhysand chuckled, standing in one fluid movement. He held his hand out to me, and after one shaky failed attempt to push myself up, I huffed and relented, letting him tug me up until I was standing. My legs felt weak like a newborn fawn, and I groaned, almost doubling over as my stomach cramping unhappily.

“Come, let’s get you that drink,” he said, leading me back to the room and sat me down at the small table we’d eaten at before what seemed like a lifetime ago. My perception of time Under the Mountain had skewed, the gatherings Rhysand brought me to now my only marker of time.

I took the glass of turquoise liquid Rhysand offered with trembling hands, and after a few long sips I felt it settle inside of me, easing my stomach and lessening the ache pounding against my temples. I wished desperately that I had something else to wear than the gauzy dress from the night before. I felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Cauldron, what would Tamlin think if he found out what had happened? What I’d done? I blanched, a knot forming in my throat, ashy shame coating my tongue. I hadn’t had the courage to ask Lucien or Rhysand whether Amarantha was making him share her bed, but it was becoming increasingly obvious with every night that passed she was getting bolder with him, and he hadn’t made any move to stop her. Yet, here I was of my own accord, without a sword to my throat.

What kind of person did that make me?

I shoved those thoughts away as Rhysand waved a hand, and large plates of food and mugs of coffee appeared.

“Thank you,” I murmured. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rhysand’s hand pause briefly as he made to reach for his utensils, as if in surprise.

“Like I said, you need to keep your strength up,” he said casually, heaping an extra serving of eggs onto my plate along with several slices of toast and mouth-watering looking bacon. “You’re no use to me half dead and exhausted from Faerie wine.”

I bit back my retort, electing to shoot him a scowl instead, but the ghost of a smile playing on his lips was anything but unconcerned. 

Rhysand returned me to my cell after breakfast with no one the wiser, mostly thanks to one of the shadow maidens who stood from laying on the mattress, having obviously pretended to be me for the night. She gave Rhysand a deep bow, and walked through the wall, vanishing without a word. I turned back to ask Rhysand how they did that, but he was already fading away into his own shadows.

_I will see you tonight, Feyre._

I settled heavily onto the mattress, and hung my head between my knees. Things were only growing more complicated. I had to tread very carefully, or I would end up losing my way. 

And I had no idea who I would be if I let myself stray too far.

I managed to doze off for a few hours and too soon the soft touch of the shadow maidens’ hands were waking me. I yawned, following them along our usual path. Had it really been only a few months ago that I’d been starving in a wintery forest? That life seemed so far away now, like it had all been a dream, and really I had always lived Under the Mountain. 

Who was I now?

I pondered these morose thoughts as I was washed, painted, and dressed in a gossamer gown of blood-orange trimmed in rubies. They had just finished fastening the newest crown to my head— a masterpiece of spun gold and dripping garnets—when Rhysand entered the room, closing the door behind him. 

I ignored the way my stomach flipped at the sight of him and pushed away the memories from the night before. I resolved to myself that I wouldn’t drink as much Faerie wine tonight, no matter what Amarantha did to Tamlin, for my own sanity.

“Your second trial is tomorrow,” he said casually, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. 

My mouth dropped open as the information blindsided me. How had that much time already passed? 

“Do you know what it will be?” I asked, worrying my bottom lip. Rhysand shrugged, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“No, but it could very well be your last. I need you in top form.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered sarcastically, but something wicked danced in his eyes at my words.

“Hmm. I’m surprised you’re not asking me for one last night with your beloved.”

I glowered at him. “If this is some sick play to get me to make another deal with you, I won’t fall for it.”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head slowly as he pushed off the wall, strolling over to where I stood. His gaze raked down my form briefly, and I stifled the urge to cover myself. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he unnerved me.

“Were you this prickly to Tamlin when you were his captive? Hard to believe he fell for you in that case,” he said, adjusting the brooch on my shoulder. I felt my cheeks warm as his fingers brushed against my skin.

“Well maybe it’s because he never treated me like a slave or a prisoner,” I bit back, lifting my chin in defiance. _He didn’t make me sell my soul to him._

“So feisty, Feyre,” Rhysand grinned, leaning so close for a moment that my breath hitched. “I like my women with a little fire in them.”

I bared my teeth at him, and brought my hands up to shove him away, but he trapped my hands against his chest, his fingers locked around my wrists like manacles. I tried to pull away but his hands may as well have been made of stone.

“I’m not your woman,” I said darkly.

Rhysand continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “ _Poor_ Tamlin. Forever languishing under the shame of his father’s and brothers’ brutality, always striving to be the noble one, the better one, even when he hated becoming High Lord. Shame, he could have learned a thing or two about cruelty from them. Maybe the Spring Court wouldn’t have fallen so easily.”

“Your court fell, too,” I hissed.

So quickly I almost missed it, I saw a deep sadness flicker in his eyes. I wouldn’t have noticed it, had I not… felt it, deep inside of me. My eyes flickered to my left hand that was still trapped in his grip, wondering just what manner of tattoo he’d given me.

I ignored the warning ringing in my head and kept pushing. “You say Tamlin should be more cruel, more ruthless, but what has that gained you? What was the price you paid just to leave for Fire Night? You said it cost you. How is that any different from what Tamlin has done so far? You’re both trapped.”

“Because he has done _nothing_ ,” Rhysand snarled, his face suddenly right in front of mine. Whatever sadness that may have lingered in his eyes was replaced by cold, glittering anger. “He sat there for fifty years bemoaning his fate, and did _nothing._ And when you came along, the very solution to the damned curse handed over on a silver platter, he squandered it. What I do or do not do for my Court is none of your concern, but the fact that Tamlin has done nothing— _continues_ to do nothing is mine.”

“What is the endgame here, Rhysand? Amarantha holds Court for fifty years—for what? To torture and maim as she pleases? To what end? What games are you playing with her?” I demanded, refusing to back down. I tried to tug my wrists out of his grasp, but he didn’t budge.

“There are things at play here that go far beyond your mortal comprehension, Feyre. This is a game that has been unfolding for centuries. Do not question things you do not understand,” he said coldly.

I glared at him, almost shaking with how angry I was. I needed him to explain what was happening, what risk this posed to the mortal world. I thought of my sisters, vulnerable and alone across the wall. What would happen to them?

“Come, we’re late for the gathering,” he said, and finally let my wrists fall as he gestured to the door.

I didn’t move. I knew I was on dangerous ground, but I was past caring. “What do you want from me, Rhysand? Past the trials, past tormenting Tamlin?”

Rhysand stared at me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “You assume I don’t simply enjoy tormenting him. It’s very entertaining.” My lip curled over my teeth, but he continued before I could retort. “Besides, when does any male need a reason to enjoy the company of a female?”

“A _mortal_ female,” I pointed out.

“A _beautiful_ female,” he shot back with a smirk. My palm itched to smack it off his face.

“Why did you bother saving my life?” I demanded, and there it was, I realized. The crux of my unending confusion. Why had he saved me during Calanmai? After the first trial? Why did he continue to help me when it so clearly put him at risk?

Rhysand let his gaze trail over me, a predatory glint in his eyes. “That, Feyre darling, is the real question, isn’t it?” he drawled, and winked at me.

With that, he turned on his heel and headed to the door, and I had no choice but to follow.

I was still stewing in my anger as we reached the throne room, for once eager for the numbing high of the Faerie wine, but instead of joviality, all I heard was silence and hissed whispers that filtered around the room like leaves caught in a sinister breeze. I noticed with a queasy flip in my stomach that all eyes were on Rhysand.

My heart began to pound in my throat. Had someone discovered how he was helping me? Or what had happened the night before? Were we about to be tortured and slaughtered by Amarantha? My eyes flickered up to Clare’s body that was still nailed to the wall, feeling icy claws of fear lodge into my stomach.

Rhysand paused only briefly, observing Lucien’s brothers as they stalked towards us. Their eyes were locked on me. The wicked, hungry anticipation in their eyes made my heart hammer even harder in my throat, almost choking me.

 _Stay close to me. Don’t say a word. No eye contact._

I gave a barely imperceptible nod to Rhysand, and walked close enough to him that our arms brushed as we approached the dais.

The crowd parted for us, revealing the source of the commotion, why many of the Fae were staring eagerly at Rhysand, the hunger for violence glittering in their eyes.

A handsome, dark-skinned High Fae male knelt before Amarantha’s throne, his cheeks shining with tears as he trembled. Amarantha was gazing at him like a snake, and I half expected her pupils to turn to slits as her lips pulled into a cruel smile. She was too intent on her prey to notice me, so I snuck a glance to Tamlin, anxiety roiling in my stomach. He sat next to her like a stone statue, utterly impassive.

I felt Rhysand’s silent command in my mind to stay at the edge of the crowd, and I had zero intentions of disobeying. The more invisible I was the better. He continued forward, and I glanced back at Tamlin, waiting for him to just… look at me. 

Not a flicker of his eyes, not even a head tilt in my direction. His attention remained wholly on the dark queen beside him and the male before them. I felt something crack painfully in my chest.

Amarantha stroked the ring with Jurien’s eye on her finger, finally turning her gaze to Rhysand. Her eyes shone with bloodlust. “This little Summer lordling was caught trying to escape through the tunnel to the Spring Court. Question him.”

The room fell silent, and the tension quickly ratcheted up until it was palpable. I noticed a High Fae male with similar mahogany skin standing at the crowd’s edge. His hair was a brilliant, silvery-white, and his eyes which were a startling crystal blue were trained on the male kneeling before the dais. I realized with a jolt that this was the High Lord of the Summer Court. I vaguely remembered seeing him during the first task, but then his skin had been shining, like golden light was leaking out of him. Now, his skin was muted, as if Amarantha had sucked all of the light from him like some great, dark spider. 

Rhysand slid his hands in his pockets, and sauntered forward, unhurried.

The Summer Faerie blanched, and began shaking uncontrollably. My stomach cramped with fear and shame as his bowels loosened at the sight of Rhysand, a dark puddle growing underneath him. “P-p-please!” he sobbed.

My nails dug painful crescents into my palms as every inch of me went rigid. Nausea swarmed through me, and I had to focus very hard on my breathing so I wouldn’t vomit.

A soft gasp ran through the crowd as the Fae jerked upright, his mouth frozen in a silent cry. I winced, knowing Rhysand now held his mind in those talon-tipped hands.

Pain radiated in waves from the High Lord of Summer, his clenched fists trembling. I remembered Summer had been one of the Courts to rebel, and my heart panged with sympathy. This was a young, untested High Lord, then.

Rhysand’s head tilted, as if he were listening to something very carefully. “He wanted to escape, to flee through Spring and cross the wall into the mortal realm. No accomplices, no motivation besides his own pathetic cowardice.” He jerked his chin toward the puddle of piss beneath the male. I saw the High Lord of Summer blink at Rhysand, as if surprised, and I wondered... what version of truth Rhysand had decided to tell in that moment?

Amarantha sighed lazily, leaning back in her throne. She flicked a dismissive hand towards the male. “Shatter him, Rhysand.” Her gaze turned to the High Lord of Summer. “You may deal with the body however you wish, after.”

The young High Lord bowed graciously, as if he’d been given a great gift. He looked at the High Fae male who had stilled, an oddly calm expression on his face. A moment before he had been shuddering in fear.

Rhysand slipped a hand out of his pocket, and his fingers curled into talons. They twitched.

The male’s eyes went wide, then glazed as his body slumped over into the puddle of his own waste. Blood trickled out of his nose and ears, pooling on the floor.

I stared in horror. That easily… with barely a flicker of movement, Rhysand had ended him.

“I said _shatter_ , not kill,” Amarantha hissed.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and here and there I heard soft, cruel snickers, as if what had transpired was some twisted form of amusement. I glanced at Tamlin. He hadn’t flinched or moved a muscle.

_He sat there for fifty years bemoaning his fate, and did nothing._

The memory of Rhysand’s accusation floated through my mind, but I swiftly shoved it aside. He was wrong. Tamlin didn’t want to make Amarantha’s anger worse, didn’t want to risk it turning on me. That wasn’t nothing. 

_Look at me,_ I begged him silently. 

He did not. 

“Apologies, my queen,” Rhysand shrugged, sliding his hand back into his pocket. He turned away, shoulders loose, not a stitch out of place, and strode for the back of the throne room. I fell into step beside him, trying desperately not to think of the body that lay behind us, or Clare’s body still nailed to the wall. 

The crowd eased away as we passed through, as if we were carrying plague. “Whore,” some of them hissed and spat as he passed, too low for Amarantha to hear. Some gave him eager, bloodthirsty smiles, offering praise for killing the traitor.

I wondered if any of them at all had realized it had been a mercy. 

Rhysand didn’t deign to acknowledge them, strolling past as if he were utterly unconcerned with what they thought of him. Perhaps he wasn’t. More likely than not he had just saved several Fae who had really been accomplices to that Summer Court male, though I was certain many in the crowd hadn’t seen the Summer Lord’s relief.

My head spun with confusion at Rhysand’s choices. Every time I expected him to do something horrific, he managed to turn it on its side, and chip slowly away at Amarantha’s cruel designs. Every move he made was calculated, every decision deliberate. I wondered how what he’d done to the Summer Fae male worked into his games he liked to play. 

He didn’t pause once as we made our way slowly through the crowd. We reached the table with food and wine, and he wordlessly handed me a goblet, tugging me towards the chaise lounge. He settled me in against his side, downing a full glass himself. I let out a shuddering breath, and took a deep drought, eager for the way it would wipe my mind clean of the fear and horror.

Rhysand’s fingers trailed in slow circles over my arm, and I felt myself melt into the touch as it somehow soothed my frayed nerves. The wine stole through me, warm and heady, and my eyelids began to droop against my will.

 _Sleep, Feyre._

The deep, sensual voice in my mind was the last thing I remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!


	7. The Second Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't obvious i'm only rewriting scenes between Rhys and Feyre, so i left a bunch of stuff out for the sake of my own sanity.
> 
> enjoy!!

I opened my eyes to see my tattooed hand white knuckled around the stone lever, the blazing hot spikes hovering mere inches from my head. Stopped.

And I was—I was…

Not dead. 

Alive. 

The grate gave a metallic groan as it began to raise, and I felt my knees unstring, cracking against the cold, stone floor as I fell.

Lucien was praying fervently, his hands and forehead pressed to the floor as he kissed it over and over. I buried my face in my hands, feeling them begin to tremble. It spread and spread until my whole body shuddered uncontrollably. Some distant part of me realised I was sobbing.

I was an ignorant, illiterate human, and it had almost killed me. I hadn’t even won properly. Once again, Rhysand had saved me.

Hysteria bubbled in the back of my throat as the floor began to rise, threatening to take hold when a searing pain shot through my arm.

My thoughts were a chaotic jumble. I would never win this sick game. The third task would kill me. I was doomed. Tamlin would never be free. It was over. Over. Over. Over...

I gave a clipped cry as a sharp pain crackled down my spine, my left arm burning. 

_Get up. Don’t let her see you cry._

I gasped in a shuddering breath, shaking my head as the familiar deep voice rumbled in my mind. I couldn’t do it. It was too much. Too much. 

_Get up. Put your hands at your sides, and get up._

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t... 

_Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. Get up._

My legs trembled as one after another, I put my feet on the floor. My spine, not wholly of my own free will, straightened, and I wiped at my face, schooling my features as the floor came to a shuddering stop and I met Amarantha’s blazing gaze.

 _Good girl_ , Rhysand murmured. _Look her in the eye. Don’t look at Tamlin, don’t look at me._

Amarantha’s face was white with rage as she gripped the arms of her throne, practically trembling with her wrath. I kept my face blank, my eyes holding hers steadily as Rhysand instructed quietly in my mind.

I had won, but I should be dead. I couldn’t read, and I was just a useless, weak human…

_Hold it together, Feyre. Wait until you get back to your cell. Count to ten._

Amarantha’s onyx eyes were cold and fathomless, full of ancient malice, but I did as Rhysand said, and counted to ten.

_Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel—good. Don’t look back. Keep your chin up high. Let the crowd part for you. One foot in front of the other._

I clung to Rhysand’s voice like a lifeline, letting it bind together the bursting seams of my psyche. I followed the guards back to my cell in a daze, listening to his quiet words weave through my mind, reminding me I was alive, telling me to breathe.

 _In. Out. Another— in. Out. Good_.

Just as I was nearing my cell, he went abruptly silent, and I staggered inside, listening to the clang of the door close behind me echo for a long, horrible moment.

I took one shuddering breath, and snapped. 

I barely felt the pain in my knees as I fell to the floor, and the sobs that had been trapped in my chest on the walk down here broke free, like a raging flood from a broken dam.

I wept for what seemed like hours, the deep, wrenching sobs tearing at my throat until it became raw. I wept for myself, for Tamlin, for my sisters, my father, for the fact that I should be dead but was somehow alive—stripped bare, exposed like a nerve.

My breathing grew laboured. The walls seemed to creep in, pressing in on me from every direction. It was so dark. A tomb. All I’d ever wanted was to live, to eat and breathe and not struggle. I was going to die here, alone and forgotten. I wanted out. I would never see the sun again. Never—

I felt the ripple of darkness behind me as I wept on the floor, desperately trying to pull air into my lungs. I felt as though I was slowly suffocating. I couldn’t look up, couldn’t move. I was trapped, the grate of hot iron spikes about to kill me.

_I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die—_

“Still weeping, Feyre?”

I hadn’t heard the quiet footsteps as they approached me, couldn’t over the loud, rasping wheezes of my breath. My chest was so tight, the walls pressing in, squeezing the air out of me, _oh, Cauldron—_

“Feyre.”

I fought him as his cool, strong fingers wrapped around my wrists, prying my hands from my face and pinning them to either side of my head.

My breath hitched on a sob as I came face to face with his swirling, amethyst eyes. The walls weren’t moving, I wasn’t trapped on a stone floor with hot iron spikes moving inexorably towards me. The only colour in the room was his eyes, and I watched the stars swirl in them, pulsing like a heartbeat, entrancing me even as they terrified me.

“ _Breathe_.”

The command was a deep rumble from his chest that seemed to vibrate along my bones, echoing through my mind.

 _Breathe. Breathe_ . _Breathe_.

I shook my head, trying to scramble away from him as my thoughts whirled rapidly around my head. _The Fae are dangerous, I should have never crossed the wall. They’re going to kill me, eat me—_

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head mockingly before leaning forward.

Every struggle I made to get away was futile as he slid a knee between my legs, pinning me down with his hips. He was too strong. I could do nothing as his lips touched my cheek, and his tongue darted out to lick away a tear. 

I froze, my mind coming to screeching halt as I felt the warmth of his tongue trail against my skin. He turned, unhurried, letting his lips brush over mine before he did the same to the other cheek.

“Now, Feyre. You may taste very good, but I’d never _eat_ you. At least, not in the way you think,” he said in his deep, rumbling lover’s purr, winking. My jaw dropped open in shock. _What?_

I felt an ember stir inside of me, and the vice constricting my chest loosened enough that I was finally able to pull in a full breath as my scattered thoughts tried to reorganize.

“That’s my girl. Breathe,” Rhysand hummed, his teeth nipping at my jaw. 

_Oh._

Heat slammed through me with no warning, and the memory of the other night filled my mind. My heart began pounding out of control as his tongue flickered out to gather up a few tears that had slid down to my throat. I felt my back arch up automatically, and my eyelids fluttered shut.

“I had a feeling that would get you to stop crying,” Rhysand chuckled in the hollow of my throat, and reality came crashing back in.

“Bastard,” I hissed, trying to tug my wrists out of his grip.

“Oh, but it was just getting interesting.” He gave my jaw one last nip before finally relenting, moving back so he hovered over me on his hands and knees. “Is that any way to thank me for saving your life? Again?”

My back stiffened with indignation as I scrambled away from him, putting as much space between us as the cell allowed. “I will never be your—”

“Come now, Feyre, do you really think I’m the type of male who needs to force females into my bed?” he scoffed, and the look he leveled at me made my cheeks burn. “Trust me, when you come to my bed, and you will, it’ll be because you beg me, not through any manipulations on my part.” His eyes flashed with heat as they raked over me, and embarrassment immediately shifted into hot rage.

“You’re an ass. I will _never_ go to your bed,” I hissed, my fists shaking with my ire. Rhysand chuckled, which only served to make me angrier. 

“You were just there last night, Feyre darling. Try again.”

I flew to my feet, teeth bared and ready to fight him, but something in the self-satisfied grin he flashed at me made me suspect that somehow I was doing exactly as he wanted. 

I realized with a jolt that the anger he’d caused had burned away my despair, and rekindled the flame in my chest that demanded I fight back. Keep going. 

Dirty manipulating bastard.

“Get. Out.” I growled, my teeth clenched so hard together I wouldn’t be shocked if I cracked a molar.

“As always, your gratitude is profound, and much appreciated,” Rhysand heaved a long-suffering sigh. He let out a groan as he stood a little stiffly, a soft, deep-throated noise that traveled along my bones, taking me completely by surprise. It seemed utterly incongruous that a powerful High Lord such as he would be in any amount of pain or discomfort.

“Shall I sell you the other three weeks of my life in thanks, oh great High Lord?” I bit out sarcastically, pushing it from my mind, but immediately regretted my rash words. Cauldron only knew if I gave him an opening he would gladly take advantage of it.

“Only if you feel the overwhelming urge to,” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows at me suggestively. I stared at him in aghast. He had to be mad. Completely and utterly mad.

“You are incorrigible,” I said.

“Thank you,” he swept a mocking bow, placing a hand over his heart. “I’d write you a note, but apparently you can’t read.”

I swung before I even realized what I was doing.

Rhysand caught my wrist a split second before my fist connected with his cheek, tugging my arm up so I tripped and stumbled forward into his chest. 

“That’s not very nice,” he tutted, shaking his head. I writhed in his grip, trying to get away but he just wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. “I saved your life. You have a very strange way of saying thank you, though I suppose you can’t write me a thank you note either,” he added as a mocking afterthought.

“I’m going to kick your ass,” I swore, and Rhysand shocked me by laughing. It wasn’t a sensual, deliberate sound. It was a full-on, deep belly laugh that I felt vibrate against my skin. My jaw nearly hit the floor as I stared at him.

“You really are a treasure, Feyre,” Rhysand shook his head, still chuckling as humour and mischief still sparkling in his eyes. “You’ll have tonight off from your escort duties, but tomorrow I expect you to be in top form, looking your best.”

“Lucky me,” I hissed, trying once again to free my wrist from his grip. I really had to stop getting myself in these situations with him.

He stared at me for a long moment, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “I think I’ve thought of a perfect punishment for you when you visit me at the Night Court. In repayment for how rude you’ve been to me these past weeks.”

I swallowed, nerves spilling through my stomach like fluttering wings.

“I’m going to teach you how to read.” 

My knee passed through air as I tried to hit him where it would hurt, but he’d already disappeared in a ripple of shadow.

The ghostly echo of Rhysand’s deep laugh echoed in my mind, and I imagined wrapping my hands around his throat and shaking. Violently.

_You know, I’m not entirely opposed to that, truth be told._

I growled in frustration, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes as he sent a very different sort of vision down the bond involving that action, and I wished I could wash my mind’s eye out with soap and water.

I paced in my cell afterwards like a caged animal, glaring at the eye tattooed on my palm. I spat every curse I knew at it, but no answer came, just an amused silence.

 _Coward_ , I hissed. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Rhysand had effectively ended my spiraling, and it had kept me from losing hope entirely.

-

I found myself humming the melody that had drifted to me in my cell the other night as I stood against the wall, watching the raucous party unfolding before me. It helped distract me from the debauchery I beheld at every turn of my head, front and center being that of a beautiful, lithe faerie perched on Rhysand’s lap, giggling at his every word and rubbing her greenish hands over his chest. He would tire of her soon, I was sure, and then I would be able to drink some of the Faerie wine to numb my discomfort.

The weeks had passed too quickly, and I knew the third trial that was being held tomorrow would no doubt be the one that killed me. A steady, painful twisting in my stomach had begun a few days ago, and had only grown worse as the clock ticked ever nearer to my doom. 

I was glad for one thing, though. When I wasn’t drinking the Faerie wine, I was universally ignored, and it allowed me to slink back to the shadows against the wall, unseen. It briefly occurred to me that if I were to escape, now would be an excellent opportunity. I glanced towards the door, but I knew I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t leave Tamlin or Lucien here. I hadn’t seen either of them in several days. Lucien wouldn’t risk talking to me anymore, and I hadn’t been able to stomach looking at Tamlin lately, either. The last time I’d glimpsed him there had been telling scratches all over his shoulders and back, and I’d nearly vomited at the sight.

I glanced at the table that held all of the food and wine, wondering if I shouldn’t just drug myself. I couldn’t bear to stand here all night alone with my thoughts. If I could have gone back to my cell I would have, but I doubted that would end well for me. Cauldron forbid the Fae lost their favourite form of entertainment early tonight. 

I was staring assessingly at the arched doors, weighing the pros and cons of trying to head back to my cell when I realized someone had come to stand beside me. My muscles locked up as the familiar scent of rain and earth washed over me, and my heart gave a painful jump in my chest.

Tamlin.

I didn’t dare turn to look at him. I was too afraid someone would notice and we would be punished for it. I didn’t even glance at Rhysand, too scared that he would lose focus on the pretty Fae on his lap.

Tamlin’s warm fingers brushed against mine, just a whisper of touch, and my entire body seemed to light up. Oh, Cauldron. He still cared. Still wanted me. Even after everything that had happened. I swallowed around the knot in my throat, dangerously close to tears. I didn’t deserve his love.

I barely contained my trembling, hating that he was brushing the hand that was tattooed, the glaring evidence of my shame, even if he didn’t know. I wanted so badly at that moment to run away, to grab him and take him with me.

Only a moment had passed but I felt breathless, like I had just run up a hill. Tamlin eased away, sauntering back into the crowd, slow and unhurried. My chest ached as I watched him go out of the corner of my eye. 

Then, he paused by one of the side entrances, and glanced back at me. My heart hammered as I understood.

With careful, slow steps, I eased through the crowd, taking my time. If I moved too quickly someone would notice. I tried to weave around groups and stay out of Rhysand’s sight. I didn’t dare look back to see if he had noticed my departure. 

I wondered what Tamlin’s plan was. Had he found a way out? Had he made contact with someone outside who could help hide us? Where would we go if we couldn’t go back to the Spring Court?

Where could we go that Rhysand wouldn’t find me?

I slipped through the door Tamlin had disappeared to, scarcely able to breathe as my hands began to shake with nerves. We were going to escape, we were—

I barely glimpsed a flash of green and gold in the darkness before Tamlin’s body slammed into me, his lips crashing onto mine.

I inhaled sharply, my whole body going taut as the surprise took me a moment to work through, then I was kissing him back.

I pulled back after a long, blissful moment, panting for breath. “We should hurry, I—”

“Feyre,” he groaned, claiming my mouth for another kiss, his hand roaming up my sides to squeeze my breast while the other wrapped around me, pulling me tighter to him. I shuddered as I let my head fall back, and he continued kissing down my throat, his teeth scraping against the curve of my shoulder, and he bit me like he had the morning after Calanmai.

“ _Oh!_ ” I gasped, my entire body jerking tight at the pleasure-pain of the bite. My nails dug into his shoulders, but I remembered the scratches Amarantha had left and I jerked my hands away, the acidic, angry feeling stirring in my chest again. 

I hated her. I hated her more than I’d ever hated anything in that moment—for doing that to Tamlin, for doing this to us.

Tamlin’s fingers grasped and pulled at my nipple, and I stifled a moan, wincing as the memory of what I’d done in Rhysand’s room invaded my thoughts. _No, don’t think about it, don’t—_

Tamlin hooked my leg around his waist, grinding his hips into mine, and I bit back a cry, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. It was too similar… too dark in here to remind myself that he wasn’t Rhysand. My breathing grew laboured, and Tamlin groaned at the sound, moving harder, but I froze up. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was this really Tamlin? I began to push him away, my head shaking as a sob hitched in my throat. _Don’t trust your senses_ , Alis had told me.

“Stop, stop! Stop doing this, please,” I begged, my mind filled with violet eyes staring at me mockingly for falling for the ruse. Oh, Cauldron, it had all been a trick, I was a fool. A stupid, desperate, mortal fool. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” I whimpered.

“What’s wrong, Feyre?” Tamlin’s voice whispered as he stilled, confused. I couldn’t tell if this was real. Cauldron, what was real anymore?

“You can’t trick me,” I sobbed, trying to push him away but I may as well have been pushing against a wall of stone.

“It’s not a trick, Feyre. It’s me, it’s really me,” he soothed, then his lips were back on mine and I felt hot tears wash down my face as my struggles became futile, then stopped altogether as his hands roamed over me, hard and insistent. 

I heard Tamlin fumble with his belt, and I froze, still confused and not entirely sure this wasn’t a lie. I began to push him away again, shaking my head when I heard a cough to the side.

“Shocking,” Rhysand tutted, and my head whipped to the side to see him just barely illuminated by the light coming from the door, though he was coming from further down the passage. He must have snuck in using his powers. He stalked towards us, and I shivered at the latent rage in his eyes as he flickered a disdainful look over me. “I must say, Tamlin. I’m disappointed at what you’ve done to my pet. She doesn’t belong to you anymore, you know.”

I trembled, my head still reeling. Was this a vision? A test he’d made for me that I’d failed? Or had I really squandered precious moments with Tamlin, my mind too stressed to tell fiction from reality?

“Amarantha would be very disappointed to know her newest plaything was dallying with the human help,” Rhysand continued, and held out a hand towards me. I automatically moved to go to his side when Tamlin’s arm shot out, blocking me. Rage contorted Rhysand’s face for a split second, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by disdain. “I wonder how she’d punish you, though I suppose she would simply use Lucien as target practice as she’s wont to do. Maybe she’ll get a matching ring with his remaining eye.”

Slowly, as if it pained him to do so, Tamlin removed his arm, and stepped away. I stood frozen, pressed against the wall, the cold stone biting painfully into my skin.

“Glad to see you’re still in possession of some of your mental faculties,” Rhysand waved dismissively back to the throne room. “Fix yourself up before you return, boy. You look like a mess.” 

My stomach clenched painfully as Tamlin looked back at me and did as Rhysand told. It reminded me horribly of the day Rhysand had made Tamlin bow before him. 

The paint on Tamlin’s hands and clothes vanished, and just like that, every hope I’d had of escaping with him evaporated.

“Enjoy the festivities,” Rhysand drawled, jerking his head towards the door. A clear dismissal.

I watched in despair as Tamlin stepped away, his eyes full of pain and longing. “I love you,” he whispered, then disappeared through the door. 

I turned, feeling like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf as Rhysand stared me down. I could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, and my stomach flipped nervously.

“Would you like to explain that to me?” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. 

“I thought… I—we were going to escape,” I stammered, watching as he took a slow, measured step towards me.

“Escape?” he asked incredulously, his voice barely above a whisper. “My dear, do you really think Tamlin had any inclination to spend his time so wisely?”

I shook my head in denial of what he was saying. “We were going to, he just—”

“Just what?” He stood right before me now, and I pressed back into the wall harder, the air between us growing tight. “Just stopped for a quick fuck in the shadows before running away? Steps away from where Amarantha herself could have found you both?” he snarled, slamming both hands on the wall either side of me, and I flinched. “Do you have _any_ idea what could have happened if she’d discovered you two here? You’re both complete and utter fools.” His glower could have melted ice. I swallowed, blanching.

“No one saw—”

“Are you really that stupid that you didn't think anyone would notice you were gone? You should be thankful Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t after you like hounds on a scent. They would love nothing more than to get you alone to have their way with you,” he snarled, putting his face right in mine.

“Fuck you,” I snapped, pushing against his chest as fury and shame bloomed, hot and acidic in my chest. Rhysand snatched up my wrists, pinning them to the wall above my head.

“If you really wanted release that badly, Feyre, you could have just asked me,” he purred in that dark, sultry bedroom voice, and I bucked against his grip, incensed. 

“You’re a pig,” I tried to drive my knee up but he dodged my blow, kicking my leg out to the side and shoving his thigh between mine so he could keep me from trying again.

“As much of a pig as a High Lord who squandered an opportunity to escape with you to feel you up?” he laughed, the sound devoid of any humour. I bared my teeth at him.

“What the hell do you even care?” I gave an almost feline growl of fury, trying to twist out of his grasp.

“What do I care?” His breath was uneven, wrath flaring in his eyes so hot it could burn me. Wings—those glorious, dark wings wreathed in shadow I had seen a lifetime ago—flared up behind him, spreading so wide I felt they would block out the entire world. “What do I _care?_ ”

Before he could continue his head snapped up to look at the door, then back to my face. His wings disappeared, and a cruel smile pulled up at his lips a moment before they crushed against mine.

My entire body went rigid and I gasped, my blood turning to molten flame. He took advantage of my surprise and slid his tongue into my mouth to dance wickedly against mine, and I shuddered in his grip. How could I have gotten confused between the two before? Where Tamlin was all burning fire, Rhysand was power, and all-consuming darkness. 

I felt more than heard his groan as he pressed closer to me, his teeth catching my bottom lip between them. My hips bucked against his, and he moved his thigh so it was pressing against my core. The memory of Calanmai slammed through me like a hot brand, and it felt like my body was moving of its own accord as I rolled my hips forward, unable to keep from moaning as he ground his hard thigh into my clit. A flare of light hit my closed eyes.

“Well, well. What an _awkward_ situation,” Amarantha’s voice drifted over to us like oil seeping through water. I jerked away from Rhysand, panting wildly as my head whipped to the side. 

Amarantha’s figure stood outlined in the brightness of the doorway, and—Cauldron, Tamlin… Tamlin was standing next to her, his eyes wide as he stared at our precarious position.

Tears of hot shame pricked at my eyes, and I shook in Rhysand’s grasp, staring in open-mouthed horror.

Amarantha gave a dark, hateful laugh, clapping her hands together in glee. Rhysand bit my lower lip again, flickering his tongue against it before releasing me, giving the gathering crowd of tittering High Fae behind Amarantha a lazy grin and a bow. He tugged me closer to me with an arm around my waist, and I flinched at the stab of pleasure it sent through me. His thigh was still firmly wedged between my legs. A stony mask devoid of all feeling fell over Tamlin’s face, and I felt my heart crack open and bleed.

“I knew it was only a matter of time,” Amarantha cooed, raking her nails down Tamlin’s arm. He didn’t even flinch. “Mortals are all the same, aren’t they my darling? So inconsistent, so unreliable,” she said, tilting her ring so that Jurien’s eye could witness the scene before her. She turned to Tamlin. “I’m sure you’re glad you finally came to my bed, so you don’t have to bother with this trash anymore.”

Searing pain lanced through my chest at her words, a high ringing noise starting in my ears.

She turned away then, leaning heavily on Tamlin’s arm as she headed back towards her throne. The crowd of Fae dispersed with a few sneering looks tossed back at us. I watched Tamlin go, nausea welling up in my throat.

“Come,” Rhysand said quietly, releasing me as soon as she had drawn far enough away. He tugged me by the arm back to the throne room, and I followed numbly. Once we entered back into the light I noticed that the paint Tamlin had marred had somehow ended up on Rhysand’s clothing and his hands. The Fae around us leered at the sight, calling bawdy insults to me.

Oh, Cauldron. I was going to die tomorrow, and Tamlin had seen… he had to know it wasn’t, had to realize the truth…

 _Whore. Slut._ My mind hissed, and I could have sworn I heard a few of the same terms drift from the crowd as we walked through it. 

“I’ve tired of you for tonight, mortal. Return to your cell,” Rhysand said dismissively, shoving me towards the main exit. Amarantha and a group of the High Fae laughed cruelly at my humiliation. I walked stiffly out of the room, too ashamed to look back for Tamlin. Too much of a coward to see the look in his eyes.

I was so anxious about the trial tomorrow, and lost in my swirling thoughts of guilt and anger that sleep resolutely evaded me. I lay on the mattress in my cell for what felt like hours, staring blankly at the wall.

Suddenly, I heard the faint rasp of footsteps, and I whirled around in time to see Rhysand step out of a shadow by the door.

Something stirred deep in my gut at the sight of him, but I tamped it down, replacing it with anger. I could still feel the press of his lips on mine, the warm, sensual glide of his tongue. My thighs pressed together at the memory of the hard feel of his grinding against my hot core, and I hated myself for it. I hated him.

His tunic looked disheveled, and he ran a hand through his mussed, raven-dark hair before slumping against the wall across from me and sliding to the floor with a heavy sigh.

I sat up slowly, watching him with no small amount of wariness. When he said nothing, I narrowed my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. “I just need some peace and quiet.”

I snorted softly, my eyes darting over him. He was holding himself stiffly again, and I frowned.

“Are you okay?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He stared at me for a long moment, as if I had said something utterly unexpected, then he blew a sharp breath out his nose, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “No.”

“Want to talk about it?” I offered, surprising myself again. Maybe I had finally snapped after the stress of the day and I no longer cared what I said or did. I was going to die tomorrow, after all.

Rhysand leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze distant. “That horrible bitch has been running me ragged. Can you imagine if I made you serve in my bedroom? I’m the High Lord of the Night Court, not her fucking stud.”

I winced, a light shudder running through me. If someone had came to my lands, stolen my power, then forced me to be their whore I would be full of murderous rage, too. My hatred would know no bounds.

“Why don’t you just kill her? I mean, when you…” I gestured vaguely with my hands, and this time Rhysand stared open-mouthed at me like I’d grown a third head, before giving a sharp bark of laughter.

“Feyre, darling. I do believe that is the most charming thing you’ve ever said,” he snorted, shaking his head. “As deliciously bloodthirsty as that thought is, I can’t. It was part of the spell she cast on us when she took our powers. Otherwise, she would have been dead long before you were born.”

My shoulders slumped. It was worth a shot.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, stretching my legs out. My feet could almost touch the wall he was sitting against. 

“Because I’m exhausted, and lonely, and you’re the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk…” he gave a wry snort. “If you had asked me a few centuries ago if I’d ever find comfort in the presence of an illiterate mortal, I would have laughed until I passed out.”

“You can leave if you’re just going to insult me to make yourself feel better,” I said, glaring.

“But you make such cute faces when you’re mad at me.” He grinned. I reached my foot over to kick his hip none-too-gently.

“Rude.”

“You deserved it.”

“Probably.” He let out a low laugh, and then sighed, his face growing somber. “We have to win tomorrow, Feyre. One false step and we’re all doomed.”

My heart hammered in my chest at the thought, and my throat grew tight. 

“You’ll need to do whatever needs to be done, or she’ll rule forever,” he said quietly, holding my gaze. Nausea welled up inside of me, but I nodded.

“What’s to say she won’t just immediately capture your powers again if the curse is broken?” I asked, my voice wavering. Would we even be able to stop her if we won?

He shook his head. “None of us can be tricked like that again. Her greatest weapon is that she holds our power, controls us through them, but cannot use them herself. Trust me, as soon as the curse is broken Amarantha would need a miracle to save herself from Tamlin’s wrath. Why do you think I’ve been working him up into such a fury?” Rhysand waggled his brows at me, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes.

I looked at him for a long moment, chewing the inside of my cheek. “The moment the curse breaks you should shatter her mind,” I said coolly, evenly. The light entered his eyes again, and they danced as a slow grin pulled at his lips. 

“Twice in one evening, Feyre. Be careful or I’ll fall in love with you.”

Shock jolted through me, and I kicked his hip again, scowling. It wasn’t lost upon me that he let me do it.

“Prick.”

“Mortal.”

I rolled my eyes, half amazed at how easily he could rile my temper. 

“You’re going to need a miracle to save you from Tamlin’s wrath after everything you’ve done to me,” I reminded him pointedly, but he just smirked. 

“He wouldn’t dare. The loss of life would be too catastrophic if we fought and he knows it. Besides, it’s easy enough to blame Amarantha for most of it, well… except for that one night,” his voice dropped lower, eyes flaring with heat and I blushed, shoving the memory from my mind. I didn’t want to think of the way he’d taken my fingers into his mouth, the way I’d cried out his name. “I don’t think you or I will ever let that and Calanmai go beyond the two of us,” he continued casually, and shame flooded my cheeks.

“Why…” I began, but halted, hating that I even felt the need to ask the question. He plucked it from my mind anyways, the smirk on his lips growing more pronounced.

“Why didn’t we finish the job? Well, Feyre, you had only to ask,” he crooned, and I glowered at him. “Believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to enjoy your presence in my bed, but there are greater things at stake than a romp in the sheets with a mortal woman.”

My entire face was hot now, but I still asked, “Like what?”

“Like my territory, my court, my people who now live under a tyrant queen who could have them slaughtered on a whim… among other reasons I don’t feel like getting into,” he said, a far-off look in his gaze. 

“Why you?” I asked, and I knew I didn’t have to elaborate.

“Besides my dashing good looks and sex appeal?” he asked dryly, and I rolled my eyes. “It’s a long story, but during the war she was close friends with Tamlin’s father, who my father killed, along with Tamlin’s brothers. She decided if she couldn’t punish the murderer, she would punish his son for his deeds.”

I blinked in surprise. Tamlin hadn’t told me that Rhysand’s father was responsible for their deaths. I recalled the descriptions of their cruelty and brutality, and wondered what they had done to warrant being killed by the previous High Lord of the Night Court.

I shuddered to think of what Amarantha had done to Rhysand over the course of fifty years, and all for a crime he hadn’t committed. I hated to admit it to myself, but if it had been myself in his shoes, I would have taken any chance I got to undermine her and destroy her reign. Even if the person I used hated me for it. 

“Can you believe the fate of your world rests on the shoulders of an illiterate human?” I asked sarcastically, and Rhysand let out a surprised chuckle. 

“That’s it. I’m definitely forcing you to learn how to read. I’m starting to feel bad about these jokes.” 

I snorted, feeling oddly giddy, but chalked it up to the stress. “ _That’s_ what you choose to feel sorry for? Not kissing me in front of Tamlin today and humiliating me?”

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry Feyre. You’re right, I should have just let Amarantha find you both dry humping in the hallway. _That_ would have gone over well,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. I grimaced, hating that he was right. If anyone had seen the paint smudged on Tamlin's hands they would have immediately known what had transpired, and we would have been brutally punished for it.

I heaved a sigh. More carefully calculated decisions, more games. I glanced back at him, wondering if he ever tired of them. 

I supposed his presence in my cell tonight alone told me the answer to that question.

“I’m going to die anyways, what’s the difference?” I said morosely, my shoulders slumping.

Rhysand glared at me. “If you’re going to act like that maybe I’ll just rip into your mind tomorrow and force you to succeed.” I shivered at the anger in his voice, but his words nagged at a question in the back of my head I’d been wondering for some time.

“When you healed my arm… why not just force me to accept? You didn’t have to bargain with me. You could have…” I swallowed heavily around the tightness in my throat. “You could have demanded every single day for the rest of my life, and I would have said yes.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips as he looked at me for a long moment. “I know,” he said quietly, and when I blinked he had vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! xx


	8. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I debated on whether to rewrite this chapter or not, but I decided I had enough changes I wanted to make that it would deviate enough from the original to be worth writing. I did really like how SJM wrote this part, so pls forgive how close it follows canon!

_“I love you,” I whispered, and I stabbed him._

  
  


Blood. There was so much blood.

A broken scream tore from my throat as rib after rib was broken like glass shattering inside of me. There was no end or beginning to the pain, I had never been anything but the pain. It filled every sense, every pore of my body, screaming through my bones as they shattered over, and over, and over.

“I’m going to make you pay for your insolence,” Amarantha snarled. Was this a dream? A nightmare? My body was being shredded into pieces, slammed over and over into the floor like a ragdoll. 

“Admit you don’t love him, and I’ll spare you,” Amarantha breathed raggedly, her eyes feral. I shook my head, more dazed than anything. Why did she want me to lie? 

“ _Feyre!_ ” someone bellowed nearby, a familiar, deep voice that made something in my chest ache beyond the mind-shattering pain. “ _Feyre! Feyre!_ ”

Don’t cry, I wanted to tell him. Don’t cry for me. It would be over soon. The human body wasn’t made to endure this much. It would be over soon.

Poor Rhysand. All of his hard work was for nothing, all he’d fought for…

My spine arched as a fresh wave of pain crested through me, my scream ragged.

“You are unworthy. You are a worm, less than the festering mud on the ground, less than the creatures that crawl through it. Disgusting, filthy human. You don’t deserve him, you don’t deserve anything. All you are good for is dying,” she snarled, slamming her foot down on my leg and I heard a sickening snap.

I blacked out, but she brought me back, forced me to remain conscious, forced me to feel every exquisite shard of agony. I was losing all sense of myself, my mind fracturing even further as the pain became incomprehensible.

“ _Feyre! No!_ ” Rhysand roared, and I had the sense that he was moving closer, running?

I wanted to beg him to stop. Don’t make her angrier. Don’t let her hurt you, too. 

Somehow my eyes had turned, focusing on him as he knelt by Tamlin, not to help him, but…

 _Don’t_ , I mouthed, or had I just imagined it?

“You and all your kind will learn. You will never be like us, you will be snuffed out like the pathetic creatures you are and be fodder for the crows. I will _erase_ you you filthy, scheming, pig!” Amarantha raged, and every breath was a fiery torment as I sobbed between screams as she kicked my shattered ribs over and over again. My eyes stayed on Rhysand, knowing he couldn’t save me this time. No one could.

I watched something—the ash dagger—flip in his hand, and if I could have spoken I’d have begged him to stop. To get out of there, fly away—far away where she could never find him, where he could enjoy the wide open skies again. 

“ _No!_ ” I screamed as he launched himself at Amarantha, and my heart shattered like my bones when she held up a hand, and without even looking blasted him back so he hit the wall with a sickening thud. 

Her distraction was long enough that the pain abated for a moment, and my eyes focused on him long enough to see him fall to the ground, then rise again, still brandishing the dagger, his fingers now wicked dark talons. As swift as a shadow he launched for her again, and I tried to beg him to stop, pulling at the bond between us.

_No, Rhys… Rhys…_

He paid me no heed, and Amarantha snarled, flicking her hand and he slammed into an invisible wall she had erected around herself.

“Don’t tell me you care for this little slut,” she sneered, giving a cruel laugh. “Traitorous filth. I’ll make you pay for your stupidity later.” He swore at her viciously, murder in his eyes as shadows writhed around him.

I screamed as her magic sent him hurtling against the wall, his head cracking so hard against the marble that it shattered like a spiderweb.

 _Rhysand…_ I sobbed.

Amarantha glanced back at me, then cackled. “You were planning this all along! Weren’t you?” she dug her heel into my broken leg, and black and white spots flashed rapidly across my vision as I screamed. 

She struck him again, and again, hurling his body back into the wall so hard that the red marble continued to crack and fissure. 

“S...top…” I gasped, coughing up something warm—blood. My fingers twitched, as if I could reach for him. “Please.”

Rhysand could barely lift himself an inch from the ground, but his eyes met mine and held. The bond snapped taut between us, and my vision began flickering back and forth between us, as if I were in his body one moment, then mine the next. I could see myself, broken and bloody on the floor, feel Rhysand straining for his power, trying with all his might to pull it from Amarantha even though he knew it was futile.

Amarantha looked back at me in disbelief. “Stop? Please, a few months ago you delighted in murdering one of our kind. Inconsistent, lying, disgusting creatures.”

She curled her finger, and my spine bent nearly to the point of cracking.

Rhysand bellowed my name again, his talon-fingers digging into the floor as he desperately tried to crawl to me.

“Say you don’t love him!” Amarantha shrieked. Somewhere in my body, so far away, another bone cracked.

Love…

_For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow_

_When I kill, I do it slow._

I’d been dying a slow, horrible death these past months, kept from Tamlin, kept from my family, kept from freedom. All the things I loved so dearly. I glanced over at him, his gaze locked on me in horror as he held a hand to the blood gushing from his chest. He wasn’t healing fast enough. 

Something warm filtered through me, taking the edge off the pain, and I knew I was close to the end.

“Say it you vile beast,” she hissed, her foot coming down on my arm, snapping the bone there, too and wrenching it out of the socket. The pain merely blended into the rest, a symphony of agony in my blood. 

“L...ove,” I garbled out around another mouthful of blood. Everything in the throne room seemed to freeze. 

What was love if not sacrificing yourself for the ones you truly cared for? For doing everything in your power to save them. I thought of Tamlin, of how hard I had tried to save him. That had been love, hadn’t it?

I saw a city of starlight by the sea, so clear suddenly as if I were there, flying high above it, and my lips twitched up in a smile. It was so beautiful it took my breath. It reminded me of the music I’d heard in my cell that one night, the music that had saved me, that held me together when everything was falling apart. That was the song of this place, this place of beauty.

I would have liked to see a place like that, someday, if I’d gotten the chance to live. 

Maybe in my death I could go there. Maybe that’s where I was going, why I could see it now. Death didn’t seem so bad, then. Maybe my soul wasn’t damned after murdering those Fae after all.

 _Yes_ , I thought distantly, the edges of my vision going black. _I would have liked to go there someday._

I gathered the last of my strength, forcing my lips to move. “The answer… to the riddle is—love,” I managed, and gave another wet, wrenching cough that sent blood spilling from my lips.

 _Thank you for trying_ , I whispered in my mind as I saw Rhysand scream, his cheeks glistening, but there was no sound. It was getting so dark. I was so tired. 

I felt a wet snap in my neck, and everything finally went silent.

-

_Feyre… Feyre..._

I was somewhere far away, but the voice made me turn around. It was so sad. I didn’t want the voice to be sad, not for me. Everything was alright, now. 

I saw a girl laying on a cracked marble floor. Her body was broken, bloody, her neck lying at a strange angle. I wondered if the voice was mourning her.

Me, I realized with faint shock. That girl was me.

I was seeing through someone’s eyes, though I only knew that because they were raising themselves slowly from the floor, a steady litany in their head of my name, over and over.

_Feyre. Feyre. Feyre._

A flash of red hair in the crowd barely caught his attention as a fox mask clattered to the floor. Lucien, I realized with vague bemusement. He looked much like I had imagined him.

Broken, the curse was broken.

With a roar the great beast who’d broken into my cabin a lifetime ago launched itself the red-haired woman who was backing away from my body, and I watched with a faint horror as Tamlin brutalized her, running her through with a sword before beheading her with his bare fangs. There was more commotion, some sort of fighting happening with the Attor and the other Fae who had followed her, but my host paid no heed to it. He staggered forward to my body, his mind roaring in denial.

_No, no, no, no..._

Utter silence fell in the throne room. I realized with a start whose eyes I was seeing through as a pale hand reached out, gently taking a piece of my golden-brown hair between his fingers. A quick slice of a talon severed it, and he twisted it slowly around his finger before pocketing it, backing away as Tamlin shifted ran back to my side, falling to his knees with a heavy thud. 

A great keening cry ripped from his chest, and he gathered my body up into his arms, rocking me side to side as his wails pierced the air.

I felt a pang of sadness somewhere far away, maybe where my heart was, if I still had one.

“No…” I heard Lucien’s strangled gasp, his sword falling from his grasp to clatter onto the floor as he fell to his knees on my other side, staring in anguish. Many of the High Fae watching began to weep, while others hung their heads quietly.

Rhysand was thinking of my smile that night in my cell when he had almost felt too tired to go on, too tired from all that had happened to him, what his body had been put through.

_I wish I could have seen her smile one last time._

A man appeared beside Lucien, and I would have frowned if I had a body. A part of me recognized Lucien’s father for who he was, but Lucien took far more after his mother. He didn’t look up as the High Lord opened his hand, and let a glittering spark fall from it into my chest.

“For her sacrifice,” he said quietly.

One by one, the High Lords of Prythian came forward, bearing their own sparks of light. Winter, Day, Summer, and Dawn- the one who shone brightest of them all, murmuring similar words and offering Tamlin soft, sad smiles.

Rhysand took a step forward, bringing my piece of soul with him. Tamlin looked up at us—at him, I reminded myself.

“For what she gave when all was lost,” he murmured quietly, the vision of that starlight city flickering through his mind briefly, and I realized it was he who had shown me that in my final moments. A small gift of beauty among the pain and despair. “For her bravery, and her love, we will give what few have been given before.” He let the kernel of light fall from his hand to drift into my chest, and I felt a flicker of amusement as he glanced back at Tamlin. “This makes us even.”

I watched as Tamlin, tears streaming down his face, press his lips to my forehead, whispering his love as he let the kernel of light that bloomed in his hand fall into my chest.

I felt life in me again.

Air flooded into my chest with a gasp, and I felt my back arch against the stone floor.

But… there was no pain.

The first thing I thought was that I must have drank too much Faerie wine and had a horrific nightmare, and that I must still be drunk because I could feel the very currents of the air stir against my skin. 

I opened my eyes, dazzled by the light fracturing off the coloured glass chandelier. I had never seen anything so beautiful. Were there always this many colours before?

It felt like a veil had been torn away from my eyes, and I could finally see. I watched the colours spin on the wall, mesmerized for a long moment. Greens, yellows, and blues melded with violets and purples… like—like something I remembered…

I tensed as I heard the murmuring of a crowd around me, like water burbling in a stream. The talking, whispering, weeping, and quiet celebrating growing louder, and louder with each breath.

_Too much, too much, too much…_

I screwed my eyes shut as the memories started to flood in, and I shuddered, expecting at any moment to be ripped apart, but I felt… fine.

Better than fine.

Had it all been a dream, then? Had I passed out during one of the parties and was now going to become the laughing stock? I blinked, glancing back and forth at the gaping faces.

“ _Rhysand?_ ” I called nervously, throwing my hands blindly out for him. Why would he let me fall on the floor like this?

“Feyre…” a choked voice came from behind me, and I tensed. I knew that voice, the spring-meadow and rain scent of him, but I didn’t trust myself to look. If Amarantha saw us speak she would punish us. I glanced quickly down at myself, confused when I wasn’t covered in paint or wearing a dress. I was back in my old, stinking clothes. 

Cauldron… my _skin_ …

I held my trembling hand up to my face, turning it this way and that, the rest of my body frozen in shock. It shone with a strange luster, like there was some inner light inside of me. 

I had skin like a Fae.

I had _become_ High Fae. 

But that would mean…

Darkness crept over my vision, and my breathing grew laboured. I began shaking my head, rocking slightly as my gaze snapped across the floor to…

 _Oh, Cauldron._ The bodies. The Fae I’d killed. _Amarantha_.

I jolted to my feet, then wheeled my arms to steady myself when I lost balance, overestimating my strength. My gaze landed where Clare’s rotted body was still nailed to the wall, and below it...

It had all been real. 

I had died.

I staggered back a step, shaking my head in disbelief. This couldn’t be… couldn’t be happening…

 _Feyre._

I gasped, whirling around as I heard Rhysand’s smooth, dark voice in my head. It sounded like midnight storms, like soft, velvety darkness that was so depthless there was no end or beginning. 

I met his starry, amethyst gaze, shaking my head again as if he could assuage my fears. He held my gaze steadily, a strange sadness in his eyes, and then he nodded, confirming my fears.

I looked down at my hands, expecting them to be covered in blood. But they were clean. How were they clean? I had killed…

 _Murderer_ , my mind hissed.

“Feyre,” Tamlin whispered behind me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my hands. I could hear him take a deep breath, then exhale it slowly. “It was the only way we could save you,” he said softly. 

“I k...killed them,” I gasped, my breath hitching on a sob.

“You saved us all, Feyre,” Tamlin murmured. I felt a strong, warm hand touch my shoulder, and out of the corner of my eye I could see a familiar gold mask clatter to the floor.

I turned slowly, as if in a dream, and my jaw dropped as I beheld him for the first time. 

He was exactly as I’d dreamed he would be.

-

I was pulled from my fitful sleep by a thread tugging something deep inside of me.

Tamlin didn’t even stir as I left the bed, too exhausted to notice as I pulled on clothes and slipped out of the room. I hoped I would be able to sleep that deeply again one day.

I knew who was summoning before I even made it all the way down the hallway, bumping into walls every so often as I tried to adjust to my new body. It felt like I was taller, somehow. Maybe I was.

I took my time walking up a stairwell the tug directed me to, taking it one step at a time as a distant part of my mind admired the strength and litheness of my muscles. Everything felt so much… easier. 

Except breathing around the ache in my chest, but I had a feeling that was an ordeal I would have to address another time.

I blinked as I noticed a thin line of light trickle from a gap beneath a door, and as I swung it open I hissed as I was blinded by sunlight, my new eyes too sensitive. I covered them, giving them a moment to adjust after being so used to the gloom of the caverns. I hadn’t even realized it was daytime. All sense of time had been lost to me over the months Under the Mountain.

“It’s been a while for both of us,” Rhysand murmured, and I finally let my fingers spread by increments, before falling entirely once the light didn’t send pain stabbing through my head anymore. My breath caught as I saw the view.

Rolling hills of jade green forests stretched off into the distance until they rose into violet, snow capped mountains that soared to the skies. I steadied myself on the door jamb, taking my first, deep breath of fresh air.

 _Free_.

Was I finally free?

I shivered, and glanced at Rhysand whose dark wings were out and flared slightly like they wanted to catch the breeze. There was a hint of contentment on his face as he tilted his head back to the sun, the breeze stirring the locks of his raven dark hair. The High Lord of the Night Court glorying in the sunlight, who would have thought? It almost made me want to smile.

His skin had already darkened slightly, as if he’d been sitting in the sun all day. I didn’t doubt that he had been. I wondered if before the Mountain he’d actually been tanned, and being stuck underground so long had sapped all of his colour.

“What now?” I asked simply, not sure how else to phrase it. It hardly seemed possible that we had made it out on the other side, though… I hadn’t really. I’d lost my humanity in the process.

“I called you here to say goodbye,” he said with a small smile that held a hint of mischief. “For now.”

I snorted, crossing my arms around myself. The breeze was brisk up here, but so welcome. I’d forgotten how fresh air felt.

“‘Reading For Beginners,’” I scoffed dryly, and was rewarded with a low chuckle.

“You’re going to be writing sonnets to me in no time,” he assured me, and I rolled my eyes. Some of the ache had eased in my chest, though there was still a darkness in there I tried not to think of. But… joking with Rhysand. It helped ground me, somehow. 

Even if he was insufferable sometimes.

“I heard that,” he muttered, hitting my arm lightly. The corner of my lips twitched in amusement.

I turned to stare at him, and he met my gaze. It reminded me of when we first met on Calanmai, when we’d just taken a few moments to size each other up. Another memory stole in- his body hitting the wall over and over, the way he screamed my name as he tried to lift himself on buckling arms, crawl his way to me.

Once again, he’d tried to save me, even if it hadn’t exactly worked to plan. 

“Why?” I asked, knowing I didn’t have to explain. 

Rhysand took a deep breath in through his nose, looking back at the mountains as if they held the answers. “Because… I couldn’t just stand there. When they write history, I won’t be known as one who stood to the side and did nothing. That matters,” he said quietly, his eyes enigmatic. “I want any children I may have to know that I was there, and I fought. I want them to be proud of the person I chose to be.”

I looked back at the forest below, and thought of my father, a deep sadness welling in my chest.

“And because,” he continued, bringing my attention back to him. His starry, amethyst eyes held mine evenly, steadily. “I didn’t want you to be alone. I didn’t want you to die alone.”

I blinked away the sting from my eyes, and swallowed around the knot forming in my throat, nodding. I had said almost the same thing to Tamlin about the Faerie who had died in the foyer so long ago.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice strangled. Rhysand had saved my life time and time again, and when he couldn’t, he had at least tried to ease my passing, to be there for me. To give me a small amount of beauty amid the pain and horror. 

“That music—” I choked, a hot tear spilling down my cheek. Rhysand gave me a sad, understanding smile, brushing it away gently. I trembled at his touch. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He looked at me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. 

“It was all I could do,” he said quietly. “You were breaking.”

“I am broken,” I whispered, more tears spilling down my cheeks.

“You’re stronger than you know, Feyre,” he said, handing me a square of dark cloth from his pocket. I used it to dab at my eyes, sniffling pathetically. “You’re immortal, now. Things will get easier with time,” he said gently. I wrung the cloth between my fingers, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth.

“What if I don’t want things to get easier? What if… what if that means I really lost all of my humanity? I don’t want this,” I tapped my chest, where the deep ache I felt now had taken up residence in my heart, “to not be human, even if it makes what I’ve done harder to live with.” I swallowed hard.

Rhysand was quiet for a long moment. “Pity those who don’t have a human heart, Feyre. They carry nothing of value at all, if they cannot feel,” he said, tilting my chin up with his finger so I finally met his gaze.

Rhysand jerked back abruptly with a gasp, his eyes going wide and wild as his nostrils flared. He stared at me in shock, utterly frozen as his breathing turned ragged. He stumbled back a step, shaking his head in disbelief, and I automatically reached for him, worried something awful had happened.

“What’s wr—” I began to ask, alarmed, but he had already vanished. 

I stared mouth agape at where he’d been just a moment ago.

“...Rhys?” I asked, looking around, thoroughly confused. Had I done something?

I glanced back to the door that led into the Mountain, and found myself unable to walk back in there. To even take a step closer to that place.

I heaved a sigh, sitting so I could dangle my legs off the ledge and look at the mountains. Tamlin would have to come to find me, because I would be damned before stepping one more foot inside of that Mountain.


	9. The House of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was a little surprised at how far I diverged from canon in this chapter! Feyre is pretty volatile in the ACOMAF when she goes to the Night Court and I feel like how I wrote it/set it up in the previous chapters has definitely put her in a different headspace when it comes to Rhys and Mor.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Again,” Amarantha said, the cruel smile I feared and hated pulling up the corner of her lips.

I sobbed, and plunged the ash knife into the Fae’s body. There was a line of them that stretched so far into the distance I didn’t have a prayer of seeing the end. 

So much blood. There was so much blood. I was covered in it, could feel the iron tang coating my tongue, making me want to vomit.

Hot and sticky, the blood flowed over my hand, covering every inch of me as it gushed out of their chests. Sometimes it was Tamlin or Lucien, instead of the two Fae I’d killed. I could never stop myself before the knife plunged in with a sickening, wet crunch.

Over. And over. And over.

 _Feyre_ … the voice whispered in my mind, and I whirled around, tears staining my cheeks as Rhysand approached me from the gloom. His steps were unhurried, hands in his pockets as his boots clicked against the stone floor. He surveyed the scene with a vague grimace, his eyes flickering over the blood covering my body.

 _You don’t have to stay here_ , he murmured in his dark, enchanting voice. I frowned, uncomprehending. I could never leave. I was trapped here, Under the Mountain. Her slave. He was trapped here, too. There was no hope, no way out—

 _Feyre,_ he chuckled, striding forward and prying the knife from my grip with strong, cool fingers. I watched, dumbfounded as it clattered to the ground where I couldn’t reach it.

 _Get up, Feyre,_ he whispered, lips ghosting against my cheek. I shook my head, already searching for another knife. I had to keep killing, if I didn’t she would kill me…

_Get up, Feyre._

I bolted upright in bed, and barely made it to the toilet before I was vomiting my guts out. 

There were no cool fingers to pull my hair back, no quiet, sardonic words to distract me from the horrible wretching.

Tamlin didn’t stir. He never awoke when my nightmares took hold of me every single night. I took deep, steadying breaths, pressing the cold porcelain to my clammy cheek. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t Under the Mountain. I was safe. I was okay.

The last was a lie, though. A lie I told myself with increasing frequency every passing day as I tried to plaster a smile on my face, tried to convince everyone around me that I had escaped from the darkness of the mountain.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since we’d returned. And yet, it hardly felt like I had left.

I had spent almost every moment of those three weeks in the estate, or gardens, which I was told repeatedly not to leave. 

But today was the day. 

One week, every month, for the rest of my life, I would have to leave and spend it with Rhysand in the Night Court. 

I cleaned my mouth with the spearmint and ginger solution I’d quietly asked Alis to make me every night. The taste grounded me, and reminded me that I was awake. That I wasn’t back there. 

I washed my face, then slipped past Tamlin who still slumbered on the vast bed to stand out on the balcony. I breathed in the perfumed night air, and looked up to the wash of stars over the sky. 

Dawn was approaching. The dark, inky black had lightened to a midnight blue. I watched as it slowly faded to a deep violet interrupted only by the stars, and the familiarity struck me. 

I felt an amused, playful tug deep in my body, and I started at the sensation. I had forgotten how jarring it was.

_Thinking about me?_

I shivered as the familiar deep, lover’s purr rumbled through my mind. 

_I don’t hear from you in three weeks, and that’s your greeting?_ I thought back dryly, bracing my forearms on the marble railing of the balcony. It was strange to get used to speaking in my mind once again.

 _Oh, Feyre, I’m touched. You were missing me that badly?_ Rhysand’s chuckle shivered down my spine, and I huffed out a breath. _I wasn’t the one shouting my thoughts down the bond,_ he continued smugly.

 _I was_ not _shouting_.

 _'Hmm… just like his eyes_ ,' Rhysand’s voice rose in imitation, and I felt my nails scrape against the marble as my fingers curled into a fist, stuffing down my embarassment.

 _In your dreams. I think I’ll just stay home this week, I think,_ I sniped. How had I forgotten how Cauldron-damned irritating he was?

 _A bold sentiment from my future star pupil,_ Rhysand teased, and I cheerfully imagined flipping him off, earning a deep laugh that made warmth curl in my stomach against my will. _I’ll come collect my prize after breakfast._

I snarled, but the connection went silent. 

Well, shit. Wouldn’t this just make for a pleasant day.

Even after all Rhysand had done for me Under the Mountain, I was still nervous about what I would encounter when he brought me to the Night Court. All that was drawn on the map in the library was a vast land of darkness, with fangs and bloodthirsty eyes peeking out from the mist, and Tamlin and Lucien had told me enough about what little they knew to make my blood freeze. How much would I come to regret this bargain I had made? 

I rubbed my chest as it ached again, the remembered horror of my nightmare seeping back into me in the silence. I glanced back at Tamlin, who still breathed evenly, deeply. Utterly unaware.

He never woke when the nightmares pulled me roughly from sleep, and sent me hurtling towards the bathing chamber to vomit. I knew nightmares plagued him, too, sometimes, but he never let me soothe him. Instead he shifted into his beast form and left the manor to run and hunt until he was exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep without waking. We were both hurting, but it seemed Tamlin was content to push through it, as if by refusing to acknowledge the hurt that would mean Amarantha hadn’t won.

I’d given everything to save Tamlin, to save his people, but I had broken myself apart to do it, and I was afraid there was no return from something like that. Not for me. I didn't think pushing through something like this was even possible.

It was easier not to admit that, though. Easier to smile, to pretend I didn’t feel the Attor’s rancid breath breathing down my neck, or smell the festering mud of the middengard worm, or the fever that had raged through me. Easier to pretend I didn't see Amarantha's hair every time something red flashed in my vision, causing me to avoid certain rooms in the house altogether.

Easier to pretend that sometimes, they were not nightmares at all. Sometimes, they were heady Fae-wine dreams of large, strong hands running over my body and star-filled, violet eyes that looked at me as if they wanted to devour, dreams of my legs parting and those hands wrapping around my throat— not with violence, but…

I shook my head sharply, as if that would dislodge the thoughts swirling through my mind. My heart was thumping heavily in my chest, my palms beading with sweat. I was nervous, that was all. Nervous that he was coming today. Nervous that I would see him again after that strange conversation on the side of the Mountain all those weeks ago.

I felt too on-edge to go back to the bed, though the cool near-dawn air was chilling me. I instead padded on silent feet out of the room, needing to bathe alone in my own chambers and get my thoughts together for when Rhysand would come later to make good on our bargain. The tattoo on my left hand seemed to tingle, drawing my gaze every few moments as I sunk back into the hot water Alis quietly conjured for me. I didn’t ask her why she was awake at this hour, or why her cheeks seemed pale and drawn. 

We all had our darknesses to work through.

I dressed in a comfortable moss-green jerkin and supple leather pants, forgoing the dresses I had been wearing to make Tamlin smile since returning to the Spring Court. Alis didn’t comment, though I saw her eyebrow raise slightly as I made my selection. I wasn’t going to show up at the Night Court wearing frilly Spring frocks just for Rhysand to laugh at me. If the dresses he’d had me wear Under the Mountain were any indication, the Night Court sense of fashion was… quite different. I’d at least arrive mostly covered, and with my dignity intact.

Not that Rhysand hadn’t already seen everything there was to see. 

Gritting my teeth against that thought, I pulled on the comfortable, dark leather boots that had barely been worn since my return. It wasn’t like I was allowed out into the woods, or do anything that could remotely place me in 'danger.’ It felt like I had less freedoms now than when I had been a fragile mortal.

Fragile I was most certainly not. Not anymore. 

I’d dented and folded more silverware, and gouged holes in the walls from tripping and falling over my too-fast feet than I cared to count my first several days back. It had taken a whole afternoon’s worth of begging and pleading for Tamlin to allow me to go out with Lucien so I could practice running, jumping, climbing, swimming, and otherwise getting used to the new strength and rhythms of my body. We’d narrowly avoided a few naga at the end of our outing, and that had swiftly put an end to any future requests to leave the manor. 

Maybe that’s why the words died in my mouth. If he knew ahead of time that I was leaving today, he’d do everything in his power to stop me, to stop Rhysand. I didn't want to admit to myself why I so desperately didn't want that to happen.

So, I remained silent, my stomach flipping with nerves as I sat down to breakfast. I forced myself to eat slowly, to not glance at the ticking grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room. 

I was finally going to get out. I was finally going to leave the manor—

I tamped down that thought train, somewhat worried at how eager my thoughts had turned. I was being forced to leave Tamlin, he was going to be devastated while I was gone. Surely that wasn’t something to be… _eager_ for.

I wiped my damp palms subtly on the cushion of the chair, and then reached for my mug of tea, wishing fervently it was coffee.

I was just about to take a sip when Tamlin entered, and immediately frowned at my clothes.

“Did you not like the dress I put out for you?” he asked, a little hurt entering his eyes. Something in my chest flipped with anxiety, and I shook my head, plastering a smile on my face.

“It was fine, I was just wanting something a little more free today,” I said gently, setting down the mug with extra care so I didn’t shatter it on the table. Again.

“Free for what?” he asked guardedly, taking his seat. I couldn’t help my jaw clenching in annoyance. 

“Maybe a walk? I haven’t left the manor in almost two weeks,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. Non-confrontational. 

“Feyre, it’s not safe,” he shook his head, and began digging into his food as if that were the final word. 

Anger, hot and irrational blazed in my chest, and I took a steadying breath. 

“I did a great deal more than walk around when I was mortal,” I said frostily. Maybe the prospect of freedom being so close at hand had burned through my reserves of polite civility. It wasn’t usually so difficult to keep my temper in check.

I wished I could feel nothing at all. Maybe this acidic anger, the leeching blackness that tore at my soul wouldn’t hurt so much then. Maybe I would just get over it, regardless of what I’d told Rhysand on the mountainside that day. 

I hadn’t told anyone of that meeting, and as the days had passed in Spring Court the desire to had completely guttered out, like a candle caught in a gale. Any mention of the Night Court High Lord sent Tamlin into a rage, while Lucien only glared disapprovingly at any sight of the tattoo on my left hand and arm. Tamlin had even gone so far as to provide elbow-length gloves with the dresses, an unspoken plea to hide what he didn’t want to acknowledge.

There was a great deal Tamlin didn’t want to acknowledge of late.

A servant bustled in with a tray heaped high with food, and Tamlin moved to serve me but I quickly intercepted him, grabbing the serving utensil before he could. I didn’t meet his gaze as I turned to the servant and quietly asked for a coffee.

“Feyre, we’ve talked about this,” Tamlin said, his tone brooking no refusal, but something wild and jittery had entered into my veins, and I was feeling reckless, contradictory. 

“Talked about how I merely exchanged one cell for another?” I bit out before I could stop myself. 

Everything in the room seemed to freeze. Lucien’s face had gone ashen.

Tamlin’s fist slammed down on the table, making me flinch. “I will not hear of this, Feyre, when I’m only trying to protect you,” he growled. Talons erupted from his knuckles and dug deep gouges into the table.

I was about to jump to my feet, anger erupting from me like a fount when day abruptly turned to night. 

My head whipped around to the window, eyes wide as I felt a rumbling deep in the earth, like hell itself were about to open up and swallow us whole. Tamlin had gone rigid, Lucien’s face even paler than it had been a moment ago. Deja vu hit as those familiar strolling footsteps echoed from the foyer.

My nails dug into the arms of my chair as I stood, backing away towards the window. Tamlin made to rush for me when he jerked to a stop, as if he’d hit a solid, invisible wall.

Chills snaked down my spine as I felt Rhysand’s power thrumming in the air, causing the windowpanes to rattle. How had I forgotten how potent it was?

I hadn’t, I reminded myself. His power had been muted before. Merely a glimpse of what it had been.

Now, it was unleashed.

The door pushed open, and Rhysand wandered in. There was no other word for his meandering, utterly unhurried steps as he entered the dining room, a lazy smirk on his lips.

Lucien’s hand was frozen on his sword, like he couldn’t decide whether to draw it or not. Guttural, ripping snarls tore from Tamlin’s chest as his claws seemed to grow even longer, sharper.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rhysand drawled, plucking a muffin from the table with all the irreverent grace of an immortal king and taking a small bite. “Feyre, darling, have you had enough to eat? I’m sure we can find something for you once we get home,” he said, grinning as he surveyed the three of us. 

He said _we,_ and _home_ as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like our bargain had made me irrevocably a part of the Night Court. 

_Property, more like it_ , I thought with a glare. Rhysand’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Tamlin snarled, earning a low chuckle from Rhysand that brushed up my spine with sensual fingers.

“I know, I do apologize. I seem to always be interrupting your meals, but we really must be going. Feyre?” He held out a hand for me.

I froze, swallowing hard. I glanced at Tamlin, before taking a hesitant step forward.

“Feyre, _no!_ ” Tamlin growled, before turning his blazing gaze back to Rhysand. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Nothing can stand in the way of this bargain, Tamlin. You know what happens if you try to deny me,” Rhysand said with an arched brow, and enough threat in his voice to make Tamlin freeze up.

“Rhysand…” Tamlin’s voice was pleading, but the High Lord of the Night Court shook his head, as if bored already.

“I’m not particularly in the mood to bargain, Tamlin, though I’m certain if I was I could work it in my favour…” Rhysand’s gaze flickered to me, and I fought the blush rising in my cheeks. “No, I have everything I want at the moment.”

“I’ll be back in a week, Tamlin. I’ll be okay,” I said quietly, taking the last few steps to Rhysand without looking at him. I couldn’t see the heartbreak that would be on his face, the anger.

“Name your price,” Tamlin pleaded, and my fists clenched at my sides. My stomach flipped with anxiety, remembering his stony mask when Rhysand had had me dancing for him Under the Mountain, and how this was a display of how tormented he had been. 

“Don’t bother, Tamlin. We’ll see you in a week,” Rhysand crooned, curling his arm around my waist and tugging me close. I tried to ignore the heat of his body, the wash of bergamot, citrus, and ocean scent that instantly filled my lungs

 _Hold on,_ he whispered in my mind, and I risked a glance back at the two males standing thunderstruck at the table. The last thing I saw was Tamlin’s face, white with fury and shock before darkness overtook us.

Wind tore at us in no discernible direction, and I couldn’t help but cling tighter to Rhysand, as if my life depended on it. I felt more than heard his deep, rumbling laugh as it vibrated against my chest, and I pricked my nails into his shoulders in retaliation. 

Abruptly, the wind stopped, my feet back on solid ground. Dread curled in my gut at being trapped in the Court Amarantha had designed hers after, my chest growing tighter as I slowly untangled my cramped arms from around Rhysand, keeping my eyes shut. I tried to move away, but he hadn’t loosened his hold on me.

“Feyre,” he murmured quietly, and I realized that I was trembling in fear. I blinked open my eyes, then rubbed them to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again.

The scent of jasmine filled the air as I gazed out over a beautiful veranda, no—a balcony. A huge, brilliant blue sky framed by jagged, snow-capped peaks spread out beyond elegantly carved marble pillars. Lush vines and perfumed flowers draped down from the ceiling, curving around the marble. My jaw dropped as I stared, taking a few steps forward as if in a dream.

It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen in my life.

“Welcome to the Night Court,” Rhysand said simply. 

Gauzy curtains billowed in the slight breeze, and I realized the hall was entirely open to the elements. The air was warm though, some sort of magic I presumed that kept it a decent temperature year round regardless of the altitude. 

Cozy seating and dining areas spread out along the hall between the curtains, and I marveled at one area that had fur covered couches circled around a huge firepit. Huge, lush plants and thick rugs accented the moonstone floor, I saw colourful lanterns dripping from the ceiling that bobbed in the breeze, no doubt they would be lit up at night casting this place into even more beauty.

Not a scream, or shout, or plea to be heard. Just the gentle breeze and something faint that sounded like harp music drifting from further down the hall.

I turned back to Rhysand, who had his patent amused smirk pulling at his lips.

“Not what you had imagined, then?” he asked, but I noticed a cautiousness in his eyes, as if he were somehow nervous to be showing me this.

I got the feeling no other Fae—especially the High Lords—knew about this place.

“It’s daytime,” I blurted out, and Rhysand surprised me by tipping back his head and laughing outright.

“My dear Feyre, I may be the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, but even I cannot change the movements of the sun and the moon,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if the very idea tickled him. I felt a blush heat my cheeks, and I realized how foolish the thought was. The map in Tamlin’s library had simply illustrated it as a land of darkness, monsters, and icy mountains, and while the latter was certainly correct I was beginning to wonder if there was any merit in the first two at all. Though, why Rhysand didn’t bother to disabuse the other Courts of that notion was beyond me. 

“This is a far cry from the Court of Nightmares I heard about,” I said cautiously, eyeing the doors that lead further into the palace warily. Were the torture chambers further in where we couldn’t see or hear them?

“This is my private residence, the House of Stars. My other… subjects who delight in that sort of thing dwell under the mountain in the Court of Nightmares. They’re forbidden to step foot in this residence. They have their place, and we have ours. Everyone’s happy,” he shrugged, but I couldn’t stop glancing between him and the beautiful, elegant surroundings.

“I’m so confused,” I admitted, and Rhysand blinked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“What about, darling?”

“I… Tamlin told me Amarantha designed her court after yours,” I said bluntly, then gestured at the calm, beautiful splendour around us. “This is…”

“Something I do not let those from outside of the Night Court see,” he finished, and I bristled slightly at his words.

“I am _not_ a member of the Night Court,” I hissed between my teeth, remembering the way he had spoken earlier in the Spring Court.

“And yet you are bound to its High Lord, and therefore,” Rhysand gathered up my left hand, threading his fingers through mine so he could turn it, as if observing the tattoos. “You are, in a way.”

I tried to tug my hand away, wishing I could throw something at him, but he wouldn’t allow me. Instead he used his grip on mine to guide me down the hallway.

“Come, I’ll show you your chambers. Feel free to thank me, by the way. Whenever is convenient for you,” he said, swinging our hands slightly as we walked. I hated the strange, aching thing in my chest that trembled at the touch. It seemed so… mundane. Should I allow him to touch me so casually? Though, he had touched me in plenty other places and I hadn't complained. Cauldron, I needed to get away from him.

“Thank you for what?” I tried to subtly release his grip but his fingers didn’t budge. I sighed, resigned for the moment.

“For saving you,” he replied, smirking as he led us to a set of stairs on the right side of the hallway.

“You didn’t save me. We have a bargain,” I argued, and he leveled a dubious glance at me.

“No? Is that why you wake up every night puking? Why you can’t go into certain rooms or see certain colours? I wonder what Tamlin thinks, except… ah, that’s right. He doesn’t think, because he’s determined to force everything to go back to normal, even when it clearly hasn’t,” he said, his voice as cold and biting as frost. 

I winced. He might as well have stripped me naked. “I told you to stop spying on me,” I hissed.

“I can’t help what you practically shout down the bond. Believe me, I wish I could. Maybe then I would get some sleep,” he said, rolling his eyes as we walked down another long hallway that was lined with more marble pillars, open to the elements.

“Prick,” I muttered, stealing another glance at the stunning mountain range. It almost made me want to paint.

Almost.

I memory flickered in my mind, of being led down a different hall next to Rhysand, and I shivered. He glanced over at me, all teasing and mirth gone from his eyes.

“You are safe here, Feyre. Nothing like that will ever happen to you again,” he said quietly, a thread of steel weaving through his words. I swallowed hard, and nodded after a long moment. He wouldn’t go through all that effort to save me time and again only to subject me to those horrors once more. 

He paused in front of a large, beautifully carved mahogany door, pushing it open to reveal a huge, sumptuously furnished bedroom.

I blinked. “Certainly beats a cell,” I murmured. Rhysand snorted, and finally let my hand go so I could step inside and look around. 

The canopy bed was large enough for four people to sleep comfortably side by side, covered in enough cream and white pillows and throws for an army. It was made even more inviting by two pretty golden lamps above the nightstands on either side. A huge stone fireplace that looked like it also opened to the bathing chamber sat along the opposite wall, with a plush rug and cozy, low-slung chairs angled towards it separated by a grey carved wood coffee table. The floor to ceiling windows with only a carved marble railing separating the room from the outside world were framed by gauzy white curtains, making the entire room feel airy, and open. 

It was a dream.

“You’re my guest, Feyre. Not my prisoner. You will have every freedom and comfort as a member of my household. If you wish to wander around, you may. No rooms are off limits to you, especially mine,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me. I hit his shoulder with more than a little force, scowling. “I swear to you that no harm will come to you, here. No one will touch you, or even dare to think ill of you while you are under my protection.”

“And if I want to leave this… what was it called again?”

“The House of Stars,” he supplied.

“House...” I said slowly, gazing around the room. It seemed a bit palatial to really be called a _house_. “What if I want to leave here?”

“Then we can leave and go explore another part of my territory,” he shrugged, leaning against the door jamb, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

That easy? If I wanted to leave here, Rhysand would... allow me? No words of caution, no denials due to my safety. It was jarring. I’d been prepared for a fight, but the lack of resistance took the wind from my sails.

“Oh.” I glanced back at him, and he held my gaze, the picture of ease. A king utterly comfortable and confident in his power, his rule that none would dare challenge him. I doubted any could.

“The bathing chamber is through there, if you wish to soak and relax. If you're still hungry the kitchens are two levels up the stairs from here. Otherwise, lunch will be served in a few hours. I’ll let you know,” he said, tapping his temple with a grin.

“Where are you going?” I asked, a little fearful of being left alone in this vast place.

“I have a meeting I sadly must attend, but you’re welcome to explore in the meantime,” he said, jerking his head towards the hallway we came. I nodded in thanks, and he gave me an exaggerated, sweeping bow, before disappearing in a ripple of shadow.

 _I wish I could do that_ , I thought with a grumble, and heard the ghostly echo of his laugh in return. I turned back to my room, deciding I would get acquainted with the place I would be staying for the next week. 

I moved to the bathing chamber, curious to see what I would find and my jaw dropped. The bathtub wasn’t actually a tub, it was a pool fed constantly by a stone spout carved from the wall, hanging right off the edge of the mountain. The water spilled quietly off the side into the air, gentle curls of steam coming off the surface. I knew I’d just bathed that morning, but it was tempting to pull off my clothes and jump right in. A narrow ledge on the wall held a multitude of fat white candles that I was sure would look ethereal in the nighttime. I resolved to myself that I would hold off my bath until tonight just to have the full effect of the fireplace, candles, and the night sky beyond. I was surprised at how I felt eager to see it. This place seemed like its beauty would increase tenfold in the darkness, rather than be smothered by it. 

I glanced through cupboards full to the brim with various perfumed salts, oils, large, fluffy white towels and robes. I found a strange, abrasive stone in one of the cabinets that hurt slightly to run over my skin, and I frowned, turning it over in confusion. Maybe I could ask Rhysand later what it was for. 

I wandered back into the bedroom, looking around me in bemusement. The room was fit for an empress, and was utterly incongruous with everything Tamlin and Lucien had told me about Rhysand. Why would an evil High Lord of the Night Court bother with such beautiful things? Why did he live elsewhere than the Court of Nightmares below the mountain if he didn’t want to separate himself from it? 

The thought of them sent a stab of guilt lancing through me, but I tried to shove it aside. We had all known the bargain was coming, there was no fighting it. 

I opened the wardrobe, blinking in surprise at all the clothes hanging up. I pulled out a deep burgundy shirt with gauzy sleeves and matching, flowy pants that were butter soft to the touch. I ran my fingers over the cloth, marveling at it. I’d never touched anything so luxurious in my life. I glanced down at my jerkin and pants, feeling a little silly. I was nowhere near the woodlands this outfit would be appropriate for. Maybe I would change, at least just to try the clothing out, I reasoned to myself.

I swapped clothes quickly, marveling at how unrestrictive and comfortable they were. The top brushed the bottom of my ribcage near my navel, and I moved over to the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the wardrobe to see how the clothes looked. I was surprised at how well they fit. The idea that Rhysand knew my exact size from our time Under the Mountain made warm red stain my cheekbones, and I tried not to think of the countless nights he'd run his hands over me. That was over now, though, right? 

I rifled through the rest of the clothes in the wardrobe, breathing a little easier when I didn’t see one dress like the ones I’d had to wear for Rhysand Under the Mountain. In fact, there wasn’t a single dress in here, I noted with surprise. No frilly, encumbering mountains of tulle or lace to be seen.

Small miracles. 

I decided to swallow my fear and be brave, venturing out of my room to explore as Rhysand had invited me to. A part of me wondered if this wasn’t just an elaborate ruse to lull me into a false sense of security, but my instincts didn’t have my hackles up. I wished I at least had some sort of dagger or my bow and quiver to make me feel secure, but Tamlin hadn’t allowed me to carry them, afraid that I would appear as a threat now that I had been recreated as a High Fae. The thought rankled me enough that I shoved it away, heading back to the level I had originally come from. 

I wandered down the hall, glancing into rooms here and there. I could hear the trickling of water somewhere, and I followed it until I found a huge bathing chamber with multiple deep pools carved out of granite, clear quartz, and moonstone. Some were steaming, as if constantly fed by hot springs or magic, while others when I touched them were cool and bracing. Along the back wall there were benches and another cozy seating area around a firepit that was currently unlit. Blooming orchids and jasmine hung from the broad beams crossing the ceiling, making it feel like some sort of secret garden.

 _Elain would love this place_ , I thought sadly. I could feel the temptation of sinking into the warm water calling to me. It was the only time I felt like maybe the oozing black hole in my chest wouldn’t suffocate me. The serenity of the room called to me, promising a peace and tranquility that felt so foreign and unattainable to me now.

“Oh! Hello there,” a warm, female voice said behind me from the arched entrance to the room. I jumped in fright, whirling around. My jaw almost dropped at the stunning woman who stood there wrapped in a gauzy ruby-coloured robe. Waves of bright, golden hair tumbled down to her curvy waist, her eyes a rich, warm brown. Her skin was a golden tan that seemed lit from within, and I felt intensely jealous as I thought of my own pallor. Months spent Under the Mountain had not been kind to me, but I pushed away my insecurity as I took in her gentle, warm smile.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice a little squeaky with nerves. I winced, embarrassment flushing my cheeks as her smile widened. It made her heartbreakingly beautiful.

“I’m Morrigan, but my friends call me Mor. You’re Rhysand’s guest, right?” she said, her melodic voice carrying across the steam-filled room. She stepped down the stone steps towards me, pausing to kick off flats similar to the ones I wore by one of the benches. _Rhysand,_ I noted with interest. _Not High Lord. Is she his lover?_

I held up my left hand with a wry grimace. “Guest is a word for it,” I grumbled, and her head tilted back, a golden laugh bubbling from her lips.

“Rhysand means well, even if his methods are…” She scrunched her nose up, and I was surprised when my lips twitched into a grin at her expression. “Unorthodox.”

“Yes, so I’ve learned.” I glanced around, taking in the vast room. “This is… not what I expected, to be honest,” I shrugged guiltily, waving my hand to encompass the entire palatial House of Stars. Mor nodded, her eyes suddenly guarded.

“We maintain a certain image with the outside world that benefits us greatly. If our enemies are too frightened by our darkness, they won’t challenge our strength. It keeps us safe,” she said, and I did not miss the undercurrent of warning in her voice. _Don not put that safety at risk._

I nodded, looking around again. “I can understand the need for safety, especially after…” I trailed off, the darkness taking hold again as I thought of those horrible months Under the Mountain, the blood on my hands, everything Rhysand had endured for decades. Mor touched my shoulder gently, her eyes sad and grave.

I plastered a smile on my face, nodding my thanks, but I could tell by the way her eyes flickered over my face that she didn’t buy the lie for one moment. Her eyes took on a distant golden gleam then, sending shivers down my spine.

“ _There are some wounds, Feyre Cursebreaker, that cannot be seen. They will take longer to heal, but the darkness will not take hold if you do not let it_.” Her voice seemed layered, echoing with ancient power that vibrated in my chest. Gooseflesh prickled from my scalp all the way to my toes, and I felt in that instant that she could see straight through to the dark, inky stain on my soul that was slowly eating away at me, suffocating me. The gold light faded from her eyes, and she took a breath, smiling gently at me. “You will be okay someday, Feyre. Have faith,” she said gently. I nodded, fighting the sudden stinging in my eyes and the knot that grew in my throat at her words. 

I excused myself to let her bathe, feeling her gaze boring into my back long after I had left the room. Twice in one day I had been stripped bare, my pain and suffering brought to light as if I hadn’t been hiding it at all. It made me feel vulnerable and on edge. Things had been easier at the Spring Court, it was easier to coast by and smile, to pretend.

I went up the spiraling staircase to the next level, looking around cautiously. I couldn’t quite believe that Rhysand had meant it when there were no areas off-limits to me. Surely there would be locked rooms, secrets he did not want me to see, yet every door I pressed on opened, every hallway open and full of draping plants.

I stumbled onto the library, next, and I felt my chest ache as row after row of bookshelves stretched back, lit by merrily bobbing faelights and coloured lanterns. The bookstacks were broken up periodically by huge stuffed armchairs, plush couches, and tables for writing, or drawing. I looked longingly at the books I had no hope of reading, the ones with gorgeous spines and those with markings I knew weren’t in the language I had a limited ability to make sense of. I thought of the limericks Tamlin had written me a lifetime ago, and felt the ache in my chest sharpen. Would we ever return to that easy camaraderie? Or was that happiness lost to us forever?

I was leafing through a book that had beautiful illustrations when I felt the deep tugging inside of me once again. I closed it gently, rolling my eyes.

_Yes, High Lord?_

_Feyre, darling. You know how I love when you call me that. Ready for lunch?_ he purred, and I ignored the shiver that ran through me at his words.

_Possibly._

_I’ll make it worth your while. Come on down._ I could practically hear the grin in his voice, and sighed, following the gentle, teasing tug as it led me through the halls to find him.


	10. House of Stars II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hehehe enjoyyyyyyy

I entered the dining room Rhysand had wordlessly directed me to, and was surprised to see the same blonde-haired woman I had seen in the bathing chamber across from him. The table they sat at was already piled high with impressive plates of food and glasses of chilled white wine. I wondered if I would ever get used to seeing so much food in one place.

“Feyre! There you are,” Rhysand said cheerfully, standing to pull out a chair for me at his right. I offered a hesitant smile at the woman who beamed warmly back at me. “You’ve already met Mor, I see. Perfect. My cousin has been very excited to meet you these past weeks.”

 _Oh! Cousin_. I felt awkward after thinking she was his lover, and Rhysand gave a choked cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“He wouldn’t shut up about you,” Mor said with a conspiratorial smile before taking a sip from a wine glass. Rhysand shot her an incredulous glare, and I wished I could disappear into a hole in the ground. Cauldron, had he told her about what we…?

“ _Anyways_ ,” Rhysand continued pointedly. “Mor was kind enough to join us to help with this week’s particular torment for you.”

My jaw dropped as I gaped at him in fright, my muscles locking up. Mor’s eyebrows almost touched her hairline.

“Rhys, don’t _scare_ the poor girl,” she scolded, reaching across the table to take up my hand in hers. “What my idiot cousin was trying to say is I’m here to help you learn to read and write. I also know several different dialects of the Fae as well if you’re interested in learning.” Her eyes were so warm and kind I didn’t feel the normal flush of shame and embarrassment when my illiteracy was mentioned. I glanced at Rhysand who flashed me a contrite grin.

“I will be here for some of this week, but three weeks back in my realm after fifty years away is unfortunately not enough time to put everything back in order. Although Mor and my…” he paused, chewing the inside of his cheek indecisively for a moment. “Other _associates_ did an admirable job of keeping things moving along while I was… indisposed.” 

I glanced at Mor who winked at me, and I offered another tentative smile. Sometimes I forgot that Rhysand had an entire territory to rule over and govern. 

“Thank you,” I said to Mor, who squeezed my hand before letting go.

“Of course. You did so much for us, it’s only right that we help you, too,” she said. I felt the familiar ache in my chest begin, and Rhysand immediately launched into a story from when he and Mor were children, a welcome distraction. We began passing plates while he spoke, with Mor chiming in every so often to add detail or snark to the story, and I marveled at how similar they were to siblings, though I wouldn’t know first hand. I’d never shared the same easy comradery with my sisters as they appeared to. The sharp pang of longing it sent through me surprised me.

I couldn’t stop glancing at Rhysand. It was like he was a completely different, yet entirely similar person than I had known him Under the Mountain. The same easy arrogance and wit was there, but there was less… darkness, or was it anger? He smiled quickly and easily with Mor, and it lended a boyish lightness to his already devastatingly handsome looks that had me dumbfounded. Was this really the evil High Lord all the Fae in Prythian feared?

“And then he threw the mud pie _in my face!_ ” Mor was exclaiming, throwing her hands up in the air, and I gave a light snort of laughter that instantly had Rhysand’s gaze whipping around to look at me, like I had performed some sort of miracle. I glanced at him in confusion.

“You deserved it,” he quipped, recovering quickly.

“Yeah, well you weren’t singing that tune when I shoved mud down the back of your pants,” Mor sniffed, and I almost choked on the sip of water I’d just taken. Rhysand reached over, giving me a few good thumps on the back as I coughed, cheeks flushing at the contact.

“I’m glad you find my misery amusing, Feyre darling,” he said wryly, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Mor was grinning. “Your squeals of indignation were music to my ears.”

“So kind,” Rhys deadpanned, and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing outright. “You could always be attending to your own duties, Mor,” he said pointedly.

“Yes, but that’s so much less fun than meeting my new friend you finally brought me,” she said matter-of-factly, and I realized that she had meant what she said. She actually wanted to be friends with me.

“Mother above help me,” Rhysand muttered under his breath, and Mor shot me a fiendish grin. I got the sense that she vastly enjoyed giving her cousin a hard time. “Have you eaten enough?” Rhysand asked then, turning to me. I nodded. “Good, let’s go, before she starts roping you into her nefarious schemes.”

“Feyre,” Mor said, grabbing my attention. “If Rhys bothers you at all, please feel free to shove him over the nearest balcony railing.”

I gave a bark of laughter, and Rhysand stared at Mor in indignation, setting his napkin down as he rose. “You are unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head with mock woe.

“Duly noted,” I said to Mor, smirking. 

“Love you, Rhys,” Mor simpered, and Rhysand blithely showed her his middle finger as he turned and strode down the hall.

“Enjoy the rest of your lunch,” I said, giving her a nod. She winked at me, then turned back to her food.

I caught up with Rhysand as he walked back towards the library. The disappearing thing he did would most likely have been much faster for him, but he seemed content to stroll along by my side. I couldn’t help but take the opportunity to pick his brain.

“So, why is this palace so open when it’s built into a mountainside where it’s cold?” I asked. Rhysand smirked, glancing towards the large archways that led to the open air.

“I’m not sure why one of my predecessors built this place, which seems more appropriate for the Summer or Day Courts, but maybe they were inspired.”

“Does it take a lot of effort to heat?”

Rhysand shook his head. “Not much. The magic was written into the foundational stones, and only requires a little recharging every year or so. When it’s a little warmer in the summertime it also allows it to keep from overheating, but it’s hardly necessary at this altitude.”

 _Why?_ I wondered. Rhysand shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.

“Why heat a house in winter? It’s comfortable.”

I scowled at him for plucking the thought from my mind. “Are you always spying on me?”

He leveled a wry look at me. “Like I said, sometimes you shout things down the bond. I can’t always shut my ears off, as it were.”

“How does that—this,” I wiggled my tattooed fingers at him, “work? Why does the bond allow you to hear my thoughts?” 

Rhysand pursed his lips, as if he were debating how much information to share with me. “Well… it’s a few things. Think of the bond as a bridge between us with two doors at the ends, two shields. One leads to your mind, and the other leads to mine. Part of my… powers, as you’ve seen, is the ability to enter and hold minds. It also allows me to shut and open those doors I mentioned, especially my own. As a human you had no shields to speak of, but as High Fae sometimes you have one, other times you don’t. Usually when your emotions are running high,” he shrugged. “Sometimes, when those shields aren’t up, you may as well be standing at the open door of your gate shouting down the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear it, sometimes I don’t.” I suspected there was more he wasn’t telling me, but what he had said had made sense. I glanced at him with a wry grin.

“Can I learn how to shut you out so you can’t rifle through my mind?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes with a smirk, opening the door to the library for me when we arrived.

“It’s not just for that, Feyre. It’s also for protection. Leaving your mind vulnerable is dangerous, even without a—someone with my skills in the mix.” I didn’t miss the hesitation in his words, but when I raised my brow for him to elaborate he just shook his head. 

“Why not just shut off your… ‘door’ if my—if the er, nightmares are so bothersome to you?” I stammered over my words, hating to admit to them out loud.

Rhysand glanced sidelong at me, leading me to one of the writing desks by the open window where I could spot a distant waterfall tumbling down a ravine. The sunlight glinted off the water, turning it to a river of gold. I felt a faint stirring in my chest as I looked at it in the useless part of me I’d thought died Under the Mountain. 

“When I can’t tell whether your nightmares are a real threat or imagined, I don’t shut it out.”

 _Get up, Feyre_. The memory of his voice drifted through my head, and I stared at him for a long moment. He didn’t respond or give any indication whether he had heard my memory, and I decided I didn’t want to open that particular door right then. Especially if it led to unwanted questions about the other types of dreams I had.

I turned to the desk, seeing the pen, ink, and paper he had set out for me. 

“You weren’t joking,” I grumbled, and sat down at the chair with a heavy sigh, ignoring Rhysand’s snicker as he pulled up another chair to sit next to me. I noticed both of our chairs had low backs, and I realized with a start that it would easily accommodate wings. Most of the chairs in the palace, even the ones at lunch today had lower than normal backs, I remembered. “Have many winged guests?” I asked, tapping the back of his chair. He waggled his brows at me, letting the huge, gossamer black wings appear through a ripple of shadow.

“Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes and stifled the ridiculous urge to touch the beautiful onyx membrane of the wing closest to me, focusing back on the paper before me. I felt like I was about to try to push a boulder uphill.

“Let’s start with letters, just so I can gauge where you’re starting at,” he suggested. I heaved another long-suffering sigh, and picked up the pen.

I quickly demonstrated my knowledge of the alphabet, so we moved on from that. Rhysand wrote a sentence on the paper below my letters, then tapped it. “Read that.”

The blur of letters seemed insurmountable, and I felt heat flush across my cheeks. 

“I can’t.”

“Give it a try,” he insisted.

I groaned softly, then tried to sound it out in my head. “Y-you…” I frowned, straining my mind to remember the sounds of the letters in the order they were. “L-oo… look…”

“Good,” he murmured, and I shot him a scowl.

“I don’t need your commentary.”

He chuckled, indicating with his chin for me to continue. 

“A-bs… Ab…” I stuttered, working through the next word for a few long, excruciating moments. “Absol-u… Absolutely? Is that ‘absolutely’?” 

“Yes,” he said, his voice a low rumble that made heat curl through me, unbidden. 

The next word was even more difficult, and I stared at it for a long time, willing the sounds to come together with a meaning.

“D...De-l… Del…” I finally glanced at him.

“Delicious,” he said in that low, lover’s purr, eyes flickering down to my lips. 

_So beautiful, so perfect when you_ —

I slammed the door quickly on that memory, hoping he hadn’t picked it up from my mind. Cheeks blazing, I stared back down at the paper. Once I worked out the next two words I whipped my head up to glare at him.

“ _You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?!_ Is that what you wrote?”

A suggestive grin pulled at his lips as his eyes trailed over me. Before I knew what I was doing I smacked him on the shoulder. Hard.

I felt those talons a moment before a vision filled my head of me from Rhysand’s point of view, sucking a stray drip of honey off my thumb at lunch.

 _I wanted to do that, but somewhere else_ , he whispered in my mind in that low, sultry tone that sent warmth pooling between my thighs.

I shoved away from the table, staggering back as I glared at him.

“Stop that,” I hissed, the effect somewhat lessened by the blush flooding my cheeks. The latent heat in his gaze as he looked me up and down reminded me too much of all of the compromising positions we’d been in.

_Then shove me out._

“I can’t,” I gritted out. It felt like he’d invaded every part of my mind, caressing and stroking with those sharp talons.

_This is what happens when you leave those shields down. Anyone like me can come along and take what they want. They could even shatter you. I’m just at the edge of your mind, but if I went deeper all it would take is half a thought from me to wipe away everything you’ve ever been._

I took a shuddering breath. Distantly, I thought I could hear drums like the ones I’d heard on Calanmai, thumping in time with my racing heartbeat. 

_You should be afraid of this. Very afraid. You should also be thanking the Cauldron that no one with these gifts but me has ever crossed your path. Now, shove me out._

I couldn’t. He was everywhere, those claws were everywhere, digging in, making my muscles freeze up.

_Shove. Me. Out._

_The drums were getting louder, I could smell him everywhere, feel his hand on my hip like I had that night, the strength of his fingers holding my chin, the heady pleasure as I—_

I tried to pry away the claws, but there was no way to loosen his hold. It was too much. I tried pushing, but I couldn’t even find leverage, didn’t know how.

His laughter, low and sensuous echoed through my mind as the memory changed. 

_We were pressed tightly together, dancing to dark, pulsing music as his hand ran up my thigh higher and higher. My head falling back on his shoulder, my lips parting in ecstasy—_

_Try a little harder, Feyre_.

I thought of a wave, trying to wash him out. There was no way I could unhook each and every claw, it would take too long. I pushed, and pushed, sweat sliding down my temple.

The wave crested, and I felt the claws loosen, if reluctantly, almost like they allowed themselves to be dislodged. 

_Good girl,_ was the last, faint echo of his voice before suddenly—

Silence. 

My knees buckled, exhaustion sweeping through me and I staggered, grabbing the back of the chair to hold me up.

“Not so fast, Feyre. Keep your shield up, keep me out. I wouldn’t just give up like that,” he warned. I gasped as I felt a talon scrape sensuously down the wall around my mind. I imagined walls, huge, dark walls that stretched infinitely up into the sky, smooth and crackless. Impossible to climb, impossible to break through.

“ _Good_ ,” he murmured, and I felt the faint pricking of claws against the wall, my shield. An amused tapping, as if begging entrance.

I trembled, panting as I tried to catch my breath. I glanced over at him, surprised by the approval gleaming in his eyes.

“Will I ever be able to completely keep you out?” I asked incredulously. He was so powerful, I felt like a mouse before a wolf. I doubted many of the High Lords even comprehended the full depth and breadth of his power, and that thought alone was terrifying.

“Probably not, but you did exceptionally well for your first time. Not to mention, you read a full sentence. You’re at a far higher level than I anticipated,” he said, and I blinked at the sincerity in his voice. I didn’t want to acknowledge the memories and images he had dragged up, or the fact that they had felt so real, like I had been transported back into my body in those moments. The less he knew about how my traitorous body responded to them the better.

“But still mostly illiterate,” I mumbled, embarrassed. I sat heavily in the chair, scowling at the ridiculous sentence. I felt like I had just run miles and miles without stopping.

“It’s all about practice, Feyre. Both with shielding, and reading. Let’s keep going.”

Rhysand wrote sentence after sentence, each more ridiculous than the last. After I had deciphered each one, he had me lower and raise the shield, checking with his claws each time that it was up to his high standards.

_Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord._

_Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord._

_Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord._

_Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord._

_Feyre is the most beautiful in all the land._

The last one had my cheeks flaming, and I kicked his shin under the table, which only made him laugh.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than this?” I muttered, and began recopying the alphabet at his direction until he was satisfied with the shape and smoothness of my letters.

“Yes, but I’m rather enjoying myself,” he said brightly, leaning his chin on his hand as he watched me trace the letters over and over again. 

“Figures,” I sighed, frowning in concentration as I tried to make my hand obey my mind.

“Here, try holding the pen like this, letting it rest on this finger.” He reached over and gently adjusted my fingers around the pen, and I tried desperately not to think of how warm his fingers felt on my skin. “There,” he murmured, and I made the mistake of looking up at him. He was so close I could feel his breath fan over my face, his starry, amethyst eyes capturing mine. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my heart give a lurch. 

My lips tingled, the memory of his kiss like a phantom brand on my skin. Cauldron, how could he be so beautiful? I felt like the stunned, mortal girl I had been on Calanmai, forgetting my own name as his gaze bore into mine.

“Try again,” he whispered, and I blinked in confusion. Try what? Try kissing him? He finally glanced down at the page, breaking the the spell. It was like being doused in cold water. I took a shuddering breath, and stared down at the page, trying to collect myself. Writing. We were writing.

I felt shame creep up on me, making my stomach flip guiltily. Here I was in an enemy High Lord’s palace while Tamlin was probably beside himself with distress and worry that I’d been taken away, and I was getting lost in his greatest enemy’s eyes. I was just as bad as Under the Mountain. No, worse. I didn’t even have Fae-wine as an excuse this time.

What was wrong with me?

I took a deep breath, gathering myself, and began writing again, not daring to look up at Rhysand once. He remained a steady, quiet presence beside me, never once indicating any impatience or boredom as he watched me write. He offered advice here or there to make shaping the letters flow easily and naturally, which was somehow worse. It was easier to hold him at arm’s length when he was being a sarcastic, snarky bastard. This quiet attentiveness unnerved me. Mostly because it was… comfortable. Easy.

I hadn’t had to plaster on a smile once today, or pretend that I was enjoying myself, or feeling content. I had been as angry and contrary as I’d wanted to with him, and Rhysand had taken it. He had even egged me on at times, like he wanted to see how far he could push my temper, my tolerance. I couldn’t understand why.

Finally, my hand began to cramp and I put the pen down, rubbing the small, sore muscles that ached from being so unaccustomed to use.

“Very good, we’ll end there today. One more time, keep me out of your mind. Are you ready?” he said, shifting in his chair to face me.

I stifled a groan. My mind felt like jelly, and I was so exhausted, my vision was blurring. I took a deep breath, imagining the huge, dark wall to keep him out, putting all of my will into it.

We locked eyes, and I felt him begin to probe. Testing with playful, endlessly amused pricks of those claws, tapping out little rhythms as he explored along the wall, stroking, cajoling, caressing. I gritted my teeth, holding harder, but then something happened I wasn’t prepared for.

Rhysand licked his lips slowly, and began to unbutton his tunic.

“Wha—” I gasped, but realised my mistake too late as the wall came crashing down, and his claws were on me in an instant.

 _Tsk, tsk, Feyre. You must be able to handle distractions,_ he teased, and kept undoing buttons.

I glared, hating that before I could stop myself, my eyes flickered down to watch the chiseled, tan expanse of his chest and abdomen and those elegant tattoos as they were slowly revealed.

 _My eyes are up here, Feyre_ , he teased, shrugging off the shirt. My entire face heated, and I began pushing wildly, trying to get him out of my mind before—

Rhysand’s eyes lit up as he heard the thought before I could suppress it, and I winced. 

_My, my, Feyre. What a naughty girl you are._

He played the vision back to me, but added more to it.

 _Rhysand was shirtless underneath me as I danced above him like I had so many times before, his hands moving further and further up my inner thighs until instead of my fingers it was his that plunged into me, curling and flickering against that spot inside me until I was crying out his name, my hips stuttering as I_ —

“Stop!” I gasped, giving one desperate shove until he was completely out of my mind. I shook, hating the heat flooding my core as my hand whipped out to slap him. 

As he always did, he caught my wrist right before it made contact with his cheek. He raised a dark brow in censure.

“So violent, Feyre darling. Does Tamlin know you have these delicious thoughts about me?” he said, his voice a low, taunting rumble. I gave a loud, almost feline growl of anger, and ripped my wrist out of his grasp. I shoved away from the desk, storming off without a glance behind me. Rhysand’s low laugh drifted after me, echoing in my mind before I slammed the shield back into place.

“Fucking prick, I swear to—”

“Everything alright?” 

I spun in place, blinking in surprise as a large male with dark, membraned wings just like Rhysand stood from where he had been lounging by the lit firepit in the main hall. I hadn’t even realized where I was storming off to, and I glanced around, confused as to how I’d already gotten there.

“Um. Yes,” I began, tilting my head curiously as I stared at him. He had midnight-black shoulder length hair, deeply tanned skin, and warm hazel eyes that held a world of mischief and laughter in them. “Who are you?” I asked, wincing when it came out more blunt than I intended.

He gave a deep, booming laugh. “You must be Feyre. I’m Cassian, Rhys’ General Commander,” he said with an easy grin, and I blinked. _General Commander? As in of an army?_ “Rhys is in a load of trouble isn’t he? What’d he do this time?”

“Feyre and I got in a little disagreement, is all.” Rhysand’s smooth voice came from down the hall behind me, and I whipped around to glower at him. Mercifully, he’d put his shirt back on. Cassian gave another loud chortle.

“She’s about to rip you a new one, Rhys. I would be careful if I were you, this one’s a fighter.” I glanced back at him, confused by the excited gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t fight,” I began, but he shook his head.

“Nonsense. Half the battle is having the balls to fight, and you definitely have that and some. Rhys, you should let her train with me,” he said adamantly, looking towards his High Lord with an eager grin.

“Whether or not she wants to train with your idiot ass is up to her,” Rhysand drawled with an irreverent shrug. I blinked at him, my jaw dropping in shock.

“Train? You… you would let me train with weapons?” I asked, stunned. Rhysand gave me a look as if I’d asked a very stupid question.

“Of course, if you would like to. Why not? Everyone should learn to defend themselves.”

I gaped at him, then back at Cassian, who gave me another grin, waggling his eyebrows as if to entice me. He seemed entirely too prone to laughing to be a general, it seemed, but then again, what did I know?

“I… yes, I would like that,” I said before I could change my mind. Cassian gave another booming laugh, bringing his hands together in excitement.

“Perfect! Let’s start tomorrow. Does that work with your plans, Rhys?” he said, striding over to Rhysand to clap a hand on his shoulder, almost throwing him off balance.

I looked back at Rhysand who gave an easy nod, and I was shocked by the almost boyish smile that spread across his face as he looked at Cassian. 

“Why are you here today? I thought we said I would meet you later on,” Rhysand was saying, an undercurrent to his words that made me think Cassian’s appearance was very much an unexpected surprise. 

“Yes, well, that was before I almost punched in Devlon’s face—” he paused, glancing guiltily at me as if he’d realized he probably shouldn’t be talking about this information in front of me, a member of an enemy court.

Rhysand sighed, shaking his head as a world-weary look crossed his face. “Right. Let’s talk, then. Feyre, you have the afternoon to yourself, but I will be back in time for dinner. Mor is around if you’d like to spend time with her,” he said, and I was about to answer when Cassian’s whole face lit up with mischief.

“Ah, so _this_ where Mor has been hiding.” He grinned, earning an eye-roll from Rhysand.

“Yes, she’s here to help Feyre when I can’t be present. I’m sure she was eager for the break from you,” he said wryly.

“You should have seen the other day, she and Amren really got into it—”

“ _Cas_.” Rhysand glared at him, and Cassian immediately closed his mouth, looking contrite.

“Right. Sorry. See you tomorrow, Feyre. I’ll meet you upstairs, brother,” he said, giving Rhysand another clap on the shoulder and sending me a wink before disappearing down the hall.

I stared at Rhysand, a little stunned by the whirlwind interaction. He gave an apologetic smile to me.

“Sorry, Cas is a little… well. Cas. I will see you later this evening. If you need anything just call.” He gave a smirk, tapping the center of his left palm to indicate the eye tattoo on mine. I gave a half-hearted wave goodbye, before he disappeared in a ripple of shadow.

Something struck me then. Cassian had called him ‘brother.’ Were they actually siblings? I supposed it made sense with the wings, but they looked and acted so dissimilar, it was hard to imagine the two of them were related.

Deciding I would question Rhysand about it later, I turned back to head towards my chambers. I was utterly spent after all the mental shielding, and in desperate need of a nap.

I awoke from my nap feeling like I was swimming up from a very deep place. My eyes felt too heavy for a long moment to open, and I groaned, thinking of all the conversations I would have to endure for the day…

I bolted upright, my eyes flying open as I gazed around the room. It hadn’t been a dream, then. I was at the Night Court. Soft Fae-lights had lit up in the golden lamps by my bedside, and I wondered if someone had lit the fire in my room or if some magic set it alight when night fell. I turned to the wide open windows, and gasped.

Night had just fallen, only the faint edges of the mountains gleamed with the remaining light of dusk, and stars—so many stars like spilled, glittering diamonds spread across the sky.

I stared for several long moments, open-mouthed. It was breathtaking.

“I knew you’d love it.”

I was up and across the room in a defensive crouch before my mind had even registered who had spoken. I panted, eyes wide in fright as I stared at Rhysand who had been lounging above the covers next to me.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” I spluttered, trying to get my frantic heart rate to calm down.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Rhysand said, actually looking contrite for once. “Dinner is almost ready if you’d like to join me.”

“Just a moment, I need to restart my heart,” I snapped, more than a little peeved. “Were you watching me sleep?” I asked, making a face.

“Not for very long,” he admitted. “I came down to invite you up to dinner but you looked so peaceful, so I waited for a few minutes.”

“Creep,” I mumbled sulkily, finally calm enough to stand up straight. I shot him a withering glare as I headed to the bathing chamber to splash my face with cool water. Rhysand chuckled. Clearly not that sorry, then.

“Oh, come on Feyre. It was a little funny,” he teased. 

“Will you still be laughing if I shove you over the railing like Mor suggested?” I asked pointedly as I walked back into the bedroom, hands on my hips. Rhysand was lounging on my bed like the irreverent High Lord he was, and I couldn’t help but blush when I remembered it wasn’t the first time I’d slept next to him.

“Too bad I would just fly,” he said, and I watched the huge, dark wings appear behind him, wreathed in shadows.

“It would be worth the momentary joy of pushing you,” I shrugged, and headed to the door. Rhysand swung his long legs off the bed and trailed after me.

“Such a cruel, wicked girl,” he said woefully, but I could hear the smile in his voice. I rolled my eyes.

Mor greeted us at the dining table, and they fell into the same easy chatter as they had earlier in the day. They hedged around a few subjects that I was sure were Night Court secrets, but their wordings were convoluted enough that there was no way for me to follow it.

“Wait, Cassian was here today?” Mor was asking, a wealth of exasperation in her voice. Rhys grimaced.

“Yes, he made quite the impression on our Feyre.”

A jolt ran through me at his words, _our Feyre,_ but I quickly shoved the feeling away.

“Oh, Mother, did he bother you, Feyre?” Mor groaned, and I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. “He did, didn’t he? Idiot,” she grumbled, attacking her steak with renewed vigour. I noticed how deftly she handled her knife—she was clearly no stranger to weapons.

“He offered to train me,” I shrugged, and Mor laughed, a melodic, golden bubble of sound. 

She snorted. “Did he now? Bold of him to assume any female wants to spend an extended period of time with him.”

“Maybe it’s a family trait,” I quipped. Rhysand stared at me as if I’d grown another head.

“Family?” he asked incredulously, and Mor burst out laughing.

“What? He called you brother.” I looked at Mor, lost.

“Oh, they’re brothers alright. Just not in the literal sense. Damn, Rhys, she has you all figured out,” Mor chortled. Rhysand buried his face in his hands.

“Mother above, save me from sharp-tongued, intelligent women,” he groaned, his voice muffled by his hands.

I shook with silent laughter. “Thinking twice about teaching me how to read, now?”

Mor’s howl echoed throughout the halls.

After dinner I excused myself as politely as I could before practically running back to my room, but not before Rhysand flashed me a knowing smirk.

I shut the door to the bathing chamber, but didn’t bother locking it because of Rhysand decided to be a real bastard he could just fly in if he really wanted to. I stripped down, and stepped into the steaming pool, humming in pleasure. It was deep enough that it hit just below my collar bones, and had carved stone benches on either side where I could settle. A soft hiss sounded to my right by the candles, and I blinked at the bottle of wine and glass that had not been there a moment before.

 _Enjoy_ , Rhysand’s low chuckle drifted through my mind, and I blushed furiously.

 _You really love spying on me, don’t you?_ I said scathingly, but still poured myself a glass before leaning on the edge of the pool to stare out at the stars.

 _Only when the view is as beautiful as the woman looking at it_ , he purred, and I shook my head, rolling my eyes.

_Goodbye, Rhysand._

_What, no ‘go to hell, High Lord’?_ His laugh cut off as I firmly put up my mental shield. I felt a teasing, sensuous claw scrape down the dark wall of my mind, and I shuddered, willing it to be stronger. 

This week was going to be an ordeal if today was anything to go by.


	11. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience everybody! I got my second Covid vaccine last Wednesday so I felt kinda crappy for a day or so then we went skiing for the weekend and I was so exhausted after I didn't stay up late writing like I usually do. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“I’m going to crown you in jewels and worship you with my tongue, my hands, my cock. There won’t be an inch of you I do not touch, do not possess. You will be mine. All mine.”_

_I smiled, throwing up my hands as I let the pounding beat of the music wind through me. Strong hands trailed over my body, my breasts, teeth nipping at the juncture of my shoulder._

_“Then crown me,” I whispered. The next thing I knew I lay on a bed of dark, silk sheets, dripping with jewels as the dark, powerful male who tormented my dreams crawled towards me, his head moving between my thighs—_

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

I jolted awake as a loud pounding on my door woke me up, feeling flushed and out of sorts. I rubbed the sleep-sand from my eyes, glancing between the door and the pre-dawn light that had barely begun to brush the mountains.

“Fey-yra!” a deep, booming voice called through the door and I frowned in confusion. What the hell?

I’d barely sat up in bed when the door burst open, and the winged male from yesterday— Cassian, I remembered, strode in with all the bouncing energy of the sun.

“Wha—” I began, but he grabbed my arm before I knew what was happening and tugged me out of bed. Oh, Cauldron, did he know what I’d been dreaming about? Could he smell…?

“Good _morning_ sleepy head! Training Day One, let’s go!” he crowed much too energetically, tossing a pile of leather into my hands that I only caught due to my new Fae reflexes. I blinked at him owlishly, my brain unable to keep up between my exhaustion and internal panic.

“It’s so early,” I whined, staring down at the leathers—clothing, I realized, some sort of uniform.

“You want to learn to fight? You have to wake up with the soldiers, little sister,” he said, thumping me on the shoulder so firmly that it threw me off balance. “Be out in five minutes, and wear your best shoes for running.”

Just like that he was out of the room, and I stood there, blinking at the door. 

Hell. What had I gotten myself into?

I trudged to the bathing chamber, brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face to try to wake myself up. It took me a few tries to get the leathers situated and tied correctly, but once I observed myself in the looking glass I couldn’t help the flush of pleasure I felt at the sight.

I looked powerful. Strong. If, albeit, a little tired.

I tugged on my boots, and opened the door just as Cassian was raising his fist to knock.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, and took off running down the hall. 

Shit. I scrambled to keep up as he began climbing the spiral staircase. Up and up and up we went, and by the second level my muscles and lungs had begun to burn. I panted as we raced back and forth across the halls, zig-zagging our way up the House of Stars. 

_Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this—_ I chanted steadily in my head as an unpleasant metallic taste coated my tongue. I felt an amused stroke against my mind, but I was too tired to put up the shield against Rhysand.

 _Careful what you wish for, Feyre darling,_ he said, and I sent him an image of me tying his wings together and shoving him off the balcony, hoping fervently that he didn’t delve too deeply in my mind this morning. Distantly, I could have sworn I heard his actual laugh ring out from another level of the House.

 _I didn’t ask to be up this goddamn early,_ I said, straining to keep Cassian in sight as we wound down and down the spiral staircase, only to run across the bottom level and up the other side. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 _Welcome to Illyrian Bootcamp_ , he chuckled. _You’re always welcome to join me in bed, instead._

My head was filled then with an image of his sculpted body stretched out across a huge bed, the dark sheets pooled dangerously low on his hips, one muscular, tattooed leg exposed. I stumbled, almost running headlong into a wall as my brain short-circuited at the sight. 

_What the fuck is wrong with you?!_ I hissed indignantly, cheeks blazing as I desperately tamped down the memory of my dream. _Never in a thousand years._

 _I’ve got plenty of time,_ he said, a wealth of self-assurance in his voice. 

Belligerent, cocky, ridiculous, _arrogant_ asshole. 

_I heard that._

_Get out of my head!_ I shouted, and tried desperately to build the mental wall against him, because now he was showing me his large hand, trailing slowly down the vee of his exposed hip to the edge of the blankets—

 _Say please,_ he purred, and I tripped as a punch of lust shot through me against my will. No, no, no, _no_.

I finally managed to slam my mental shields up out of sheer desperation, but the image was already seared in my brain, replaying over and over. Damn him. Damn him. _Damn_ him.

“Come on, Cursebreaker! Run it out!” Cassian called behind him, and I welcomed the distraction of the straining burn in my limbs as I pumped my arms harder, flying down the hall.

He finally came to a halt by the main veranda, and I stumbled to a stop behind him, collapsing onto all fours. My mouth was painfully dry and tasted of metal as I heaved for breath, muscles trembling.

“Here,” he said, handing me an urn which I eagerly gulped water from. “Five minutes, then we begin our exercises.”

“What’s an Illyrian?” I gasped out once I stopped feeling like I would vomit if I raised my head.

“You’re looking at one,” he preened, flaring his wings out proudly. “We’re a race that lives within the Night Court. The strongest, bravest, meanest warriors in Prythian—also the most handsome,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“How come Rhysand has wings like yours?” I asked, and he blinked in surprise.

“He showed you his wings? I’m impressed. I can count on one hand the number of non-Illyrians he’s shown,” he said. I frowned, trying to put the pieces together.

“But, he’s High Fae, isn’t he? You don’t have pointed ears,” I noted, finally heaving myself upright.

“Yes, but he’s also half-Illyrian. His mother was…” he trailed off, and I noticed a shadow of sadness flicker in his eyes. “You’ll have to ask him about it. It’s not my story to tell.”

I grimaced, nodding. Not that I was eager to see or talk to Rhysand after his little performance this morning. I fought down a blush at the memory, and shoved it from my mind.

Once I’d mostly recovered, Cassian walked me through a grueling routine of stretches and exercises that had my muscles screaming in protest. Then, he brought out the sparring sticks.

My arms and chest barked in pain as I went through the movements Cassian taught me. He endlessly smacked his stick against my stomach, my spine, telling me to brace here, activate the muscle there, hold myself this way, bring my shoulder blades back, get down in a crouch, make myself a smaller target, be more nimble on my feet. By the end of the hour I felt like I was walking on knives. My legs were beginning to give out when Cassian finally relented, patting me on the back in approval.

“You did well, little sister. You’ll be in fighting shape in no time,” he said, gathering up the sparring sticks. I mumbled my thanks, barely managing a smile as I limped my way to the bathing chamber down the hall.

I didn’t even care that I was naked when I stripped out of the leathers, and found the hottest pool to sink into. I moaned in ecstasy as the heat of the water stole into my abused muscles, and I lay there on the carved bench for a few long moments, too exhausted to even move.

“Rough morning?” A feminine laugh awoke me, I hadn’t even realized I’d dozed off. I blinked up at Mor who was sitting on the floor across the tub from me, nodding with effort. 

“Cassian beat the shit out of me,” I complained, wincing in pain as I reached for a tub of salt scrub that smelled of sandalwood and lavender. My cheeks heated up as I realized she could see every part of me, but her eyes politely didn’t stray from my face, which I was thankful for.

Mor chuckled, pulling the cuffs of her cream coloured pants up to her knees so she could dangle her legs into the water. “Yes, Illyrians tend to do that. They’re good at fighting and fucking, and not much else.”

I ignored the searing jolt that went through me at her words, remembering what Cassian had told me about Rhysand’s heritage along with my less than innocent dreams this morning, and the obnoxious visions Rhysand had sent me. _Don’t think about it. Stop._

“They sound like a very charming People,” I mumbled, and began the arduous task of cleaning off the last remnants of sweat from my skin.

“Quite.” She scrunched up her nose as if she felt the exact opposite. “Well, I tracked you down so we could get breakfast together and then do some reading and writing, but now that I see you I think we should maybe just take breakfast in the library?” 

I nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I think if I climb another staircase today I’ll actually puke.”

When I was finished bathing Mor grabbed a large, fluffy white towel for me and turned her back while I dried off. Before I could ask, the two shadow maidens walked into the bathing chamber, bearing clothes and a brush for my hair, as well as some jars of what looked like creams. 

“Oh! Hello,” I said in surprise. I hadn’t expected to ever see the two again, but it made sense that they worked in Rhysand’s household. Their skin was more solid now, rather than the ethereal shadows they had been Under the Mountain, as if they were finally comfortable with being seen. 

“Nuala, Cerridwen, you two are, as usual, a blessing from the Mother above,” Mor smiled, then turned to me. “I’ll meet you in the library, okay?”

I nodded, and turned to offer a shy smile to the two. I was glad to know their names now. They smiled in response, their faces instantly becoming lovely. 

They rubbed the two creams on my body, the first a sharp mint-scented salve that seeped into my sore muscles, easing the persistent, painful ache in them, and the other was a much gentler scent that soothed my skin and made it soft and supple. Once I was dressed in a comfortable taupe set of Night Court clothes, they turned and led me out of the bathing chamber to the library. 

I was able to walk without a limp thanks to the salve they’d used, and I made a point to ask them later for a jar off it to keep in my room. If I was training with Cassian all week I would certainly need it. 

Mor had a much more structured lesson plan laid out for me, with several books on Prythian history and literature stacked on the desk. We spent the hours practicing my letters, focusing on making them flow together beautifully as I connected them into words. Then, she took a blank stack of paper and had me write down every word I didn’t know and its meaning as she helped me read through the histories. Most were Fae terms that, as a mortal, I had never come across. As the hours ticked by I found it easier and easier to read words at a glance, rather than having to sound them out. 

“The genealogy of all the courts isn’t anything particularly important to dwell on,” Mor said, flipping over several chapters that delved into the ancient, complicated family trees of the seven courts. I caught a glimpse of the Night Court chapter, and wondered how Rhysand would feel if I researched his past. I remembered Cassian’s sad look when he mentioned Rhysand’s mother, and felt a stab of guilt. It wouldn’t be right for me to pry. 

“Rhys said that… that his father killed Tamlin’s, and his brothers,” I said cautiously, wondering if I was straying into dangerous territory. Mor sighed, nodding.

“Tamlin’s father and brothers were brutes of the worst sort. Not that Rhys’ father was any better, but… they deserved what happened to them. It was a messy affair.” Her eyes held such a weary, deep sadness that any further questions died on my tongue.

We broke for lunch, Nuala and Cerridwen being kind enough to deliver it to us in the library. We sat on one of the verandas overlooking the gorgeous mountain range.

“Is it strange to be High Fae after being mortal your whole life?” Mor asked after a comfortable lull in the conversation.

I thought for a long moment, as I chewed. “Yes, I suppose it is. My mortal life was… it wasn’t easy, so I can’t honestly say I wish I could go back to it. But…” I swallowed, feeling the aching darkness in my chest throb. “Being High Fae hasn’t been easy either, at least… not after what happened. Down there.”

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did,” Mor said quietly, and I looked at her in surprise. She met my gaze steadily. “You brought him back to us. You saved him. Rhys is part of our family, we weren’t sure if we were ever going to see him again, but you gave us that gift. It means everything to us.”

I felt a knot tighten my throat, so I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I wasn’t sure of the ‘us’ she referred to, but it made sense that there were people who cared about Rhysand. I thought of the ones who cared for me, Tamlin and even Lucien, but all I felt was an emptiness in my chest that ached painfully. 

We spent another few hours reading and writing, then finally called it for the afternoon when Mor complained she was beginning to get a headache.

“I don’t think I’ve read this much in centuries,” she grumbled good-naturedly, and I hid my laugh in a cough.

“It’s a shame Rhysand is gone and left you saddled with me. How come he can’t do it?” I asked, hoping my fishing for information was subtle enough.

Something darkened in her gaze. “Unfortunately he was right, three weeks is not nearly nearly enough time to put back together the things that fell apart when he was away. There was some trouble with a few of the Illyrian war bands who decided they preferred Amarantha’s rule, and took the opportunity to expand their territories. Rhys is disabusing them of that notion, and punishing the insurrectionists who betrayed us.”

I shuddered delicately. I would never want to be on the wrong end of Rhysand’s anger. It would probably be the last thing I did.

“Yes, if I were them I would be very afraid too,” Mor said with a grimace upon seeing my reaction. Then, her face smoothed over. “I’m going to winnow home for a little to check on a few things. Will you be okay by yourself? I’ll return in time for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, waving off her concern. She had her own life to attend to, I didn’t want her to feel as if she had to babysit me all day. “I’ll probably take another nap, to be honest. Cassian really killed me this morning.”

Mor gave a very un-ladylike snort. “Like I said, fighting and fucking. Don’t let the tough warrior act fool you, Cassian is just a big Illyrian baby when it comes down to it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to hide my smile, remembering Cassian’s… _exuberant_ personality. “I don’t think I’d ever say it to his face, though. His biceps are larger than my head.” We both laughed at that. Mor bid me goodbye, and took a step, disappearing just as Rhysand had so many times before, but with less shadows. I made a mental note to ask her what on earth ‘winnowing’ even was when she returned. It seemed terribly convenient to be able to appear and disappear to wherever you wanted.

I wandered around the rest of the afternoon, ending up on the couch by the firepit in the main hall, staring out at the mountains. Even though I was technically still stuck in a house, if this palace could really be called one, I didn’t feel as suffocated with the sweeping view visible from every single room. 

I wondered when Rhysand would return, and if I could convince him to take me elsewhere in his territory. The thought was a little unnerving, but so far the Night Court had proven very different from the violent, dark place I had expected it would be. Maybe the rest of his territory wouldn’t be as well.

I was also thankful for the small reprieve from Rhys’ company. His presence seemed to be messing with my mind, bringing back more of the Fae-wine dreams that left me unsettled and off-balance. A few days without him around would do me a world of good, even if the nightmares were my only other option.

I sighed at the thought. What a mess I was.

As the sun slowly began its descent, I felt the aching in my chest begin anew. The eyes of the Fae I killed filled my mind; the prayer the female had whispered, tears streaming down her face echoed over and over in a loop. How was it fair that I survived and they did not? Why had I been given the gift of life and they were allowed to die? 

I pressed my fists into my chest, as if that could keep the pieces of me from splintering apart. None of it made sense. Clare, the tasks, killing them, dying, becoming High Fae. Such senseless violence, senseless loss of life. Maybe I was hallucinating and I would wake back up in my cabin, lying between Nesta and Elain. Maybe these painful stabs in my chest were really hunger pangs stealing through my sleep, tricking my mind.

I looked down at my hands, my eyes inexorably drawn towards the tattoo from my bargain.

No, this was not a nightmare. Nor was it a dream. 

The exhaustion from the day pulled at me, and I leaned my head down on one of the plush pillows. Mor would come wake me when it was time for dinner, but for the moment the sadness felt too cold, too deep to stay awake and bear.

_Swords clashed, blood spraying starkly against the white snow. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, felling body after body, while others merely seized up, eyes turning glassy and vacant before blood poured from their eyes and noses, and they collapsed._

_Wings. So many broken, shattered wings. Like jagged, cracked mountains erupting from the ground which was little but a sea of blood, gore, and broken bodies_

_There was a sense of regret, but it was muted by rage, and a righteous protectiveness. These people had betrayed, lied, and murdered. This was what they deserved._

_And yet._

_Still my people._

_So much regret. So much death. Was this always the answer? Would this endless cycle of violence ever stop?_

_A broken girl lying on a cold cell floor, shivering and begging for mercy, dying of fever. She shouldn’t have to cry, to plead for help. She shouldn’t even be there. She was mortal, she was so fragile, so innocent—_

_Mine. She’s mine. I’ll do this and worse for her. I’d break the world for her, to make it safe, to reshape it in her image. To see her smile. To hear her laugh, one more time…_

_Slash. Snap. Screams._

_Blood. So much blood._

_The dance of death._

_Perfected for centuries. Caged for so long in impotent rage. Now, unleashed._

“Feyre?”

I bolted upright, chest heaving as I spun wildly, fists coming up to protect myself. 

My fists were on fire.

“ _Fuck!_ ” I yelled, scrambling back but my new Fae body was too fast and I lost my balance, teetering to the floor. The fire guttered and went out on my hands, and I lay there gasping for breath as my thundering heart tried to beat out of my chest.

“Mother above, Feyre, are you alright?” Mor was at my side in an instant, fingers on my pulse as she checked me over worriedly. I couldn’t look away from my hands which were trembling violently.

“Did you… did you see that?” I asked between gasps for air. Her lips thinned and she nodded sagely.

“I came back and scented your fear. When I found you your fists were wreathed in flames. I’m afraid Rhys’ suspicions were right, Feyre. When the High Lords brought you back to life, they each gave you a drop of their power. Now those powers are yours.”

I stared open-mouthed at her, chills snaking down my spine like freezing drops of ice. No, that couldn’t be. It couldn’t...

“What… what Court is fire?” I asked, my voice weak. 

Dark anger flashed in Mor’s eyes. “Autumn. And believe me, Feyre, Beron would not take kindly to the fact that you possess a drop of his power. He’s a cruel bastard, and he would kill you just to have it returned to him. The other High Lords may very well feel the same”

I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself. I remembered Lucien’s anger and hatred towards his father, and I didn’t doubt Mor. 

“What do we do? I didn’t… I didn’t mean to use the fire. How do I hide it?” I glanced down at my hands again, as if they were alien to me now.

“Hide it? No, Feyre,” Mor took my hands in hers, her warm brown eyes earnest. “This isn’t something to hide, you should never be ashamed of the gifts you’ve been given. You have to train, to strengthen them, so that when the High Lords discover they’ve given you a drop of their power, you’re too strong for them to take it. Plus, Rhys would never let them hurt you, and none of them would dare go against him.”

It didn’t escape me that she only mentioned Rhys, and not Tamlin. Did she think he wouldn’t protect me?

“I’ll have to tell Rhys that what he suspected was true, then we need to start training,” she said more to herself than to me. 

I worried the inside of my cheek, but didn’t argue at the moment. I wasn’t sure how I felt about training these powers, given freely by the High Lords or not. 

“Were you having a bad dream?” Mor asked then, her eyes kind.

“I… I think so. It wasn’t like the others I usually have, but…” I frowned, scratching my head. The dream was fuzzy now, the details having faded fast while I was distracted from the fire issue. “I don’t remember it, really.”

Mor nodded, considering quietly for a moment. “Well, you’re unhurt, so at least your fire can’t burn you. If it happens again tonight or any time after just call for me, okay?” 

I agreed, and we headed upstairs together to eat dinner.

“How was the… er, the stuff you were checking on earlier?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the discomfort of my powers making themselves known. Mor’s face seemed to light up, and she smiled brightly. 

“I went home to see my mate, Áine. She just finished training a group of recruits for Rhysand’s Fianna, so I was very happy to see her.” Mor’s voice grew so warm and adoring that it sent a pang through my chest. It was clear she was deeply in love with her mate.

“You must have missed her,” I said with a sad smile. Tamlin had never indicated that we were mates, and we’d never spoken about anything like that.

A shiver brushed down my spine at the thought. What if Tamlin… found a mate? What if it wasn’t me? 

Mor was answering my question but I barely heard her as horrible thoughts of Tamlin’s faceless mate swirled through my mind. Wouldn’t he have told me by now if I was his mate? 

“Are mates common?” I asked suddenly. Mor bit her lip, glancing around as if she was worried someone would be listening. Had Rhys asked her not to talk about mates with me?

“Ah, it’s… er, complicated, I suppose, but… yes, most Fae find their mates sometime in their first millenia alive. It depends on the Fates, I suppose,” she said, slightly strained. 

“I… You don’t have to answer this, but… if I were Tamlin’s mate, he… he would have known already, wouldn’t he?” I tried not to convey my despair, but Mor still winced. 

“Yes, he would have. I’m sorry, Feyre, but there’s no mating with Tamlin,” she said with a sympathetic look. I nodded dejectedly, though a part of me was somehow… glad. I was too broken to be Tamlin’s mate. He deserved someone who was whole, who would love the pretty dresses and parties. 

I reeled back from that train of thought. Was I so ready to abandon him? After everything I’d done to get him back? Just because there was no mating didn’t mean… didn’t mean we couldn’t be together. He hadn’t found his mate yet, so there was time. He may never find one, for that matter. 

Mor chewed her lip, obviously watching the kaleidoscope of emotions playing over my face. She looked torn, like she desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t, or wouldn’t. I gave her a half-hearted smile.

“I’m fine, just tired after today. I think I have another early morning tomorrow,” I said with a grimace. I excused myself as politely as I could, and Mor murmured her goodnight. I could feel her eyes following me as I left the room. 

My thoughts felt like a mess, a constant dull roar in my head that I had no hope of sorting through. My feet carried me to the library, and I browsed through the books, trying to breathe through the acidic, throbbing pain in my chest. I found a book full of gorgeous illustrations of different castles and palaces throughout Prythian, and carried it back to my room. 

I sunk into the pool in my bathing chamber after stripping down, and leaned against the wall as I leafed through the book. The words were coming easier and easier as I read, and I made a few mental notes to ask Mor how to pronounce a few of the names I’d never seen before. When my eyes finally grew heavy and the book drooped dangerously close to the water a few times too many, I finally relented and got out to get ready for bed.

I curled up on the bed, staring out at the stars as I remembered watching Tamlin bleed out on the floor, and wondered what sort of mate he would have someday. Would she be kind? Sweet? Would he let her roam wherever she wished in the Spring Court, or would she be content to stay at the estate, protected and safe? 

My last thought before sleep took me, was my determination to help him see I could handle myself. That I could be strong, and capable—even if I’d never truly be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Mor a mate in my story because... SJM's handling of that whole ordeal really never sat with me well. It also felt like it took all intelligence and agency away from Azriel for pining after her for 500 years. Like... you're really gonna tell me he pined after her for FIVE HUNDRED years? nahhhh. also i hate the queer kill-their-partner-so-they're-sad trope and i'm just like, not about that life. so, yeah! that's the reason behind the change lol
> 
> let me know what you think!


	12. War is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *stares at the chapter number*  
> it was supposed to be a two or three shot...  
> *grumbling as I keep typing*  
> it was supposed to be a stupid fucking short fic and now i'm REWRITING THE DAMN BOOK  
> *long suffering sigh*
> 
> —  
> Also, it’s kind of a headcanon of mine that Illyrians have dragon wings. I get that SJM described them as “bat-like” but when she mentions Rhys’ beast she says it had scales and claws so my brain went :0 DRAGON

The next few days passed much the same, with Cassian dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn and training me until I felt like I’d vomit if I moved another inch, then a long, hot soak before shuffling to the library to eat breakfast and study with Mor. I was silently thankful for the constant movement, the steady strain of limbs and mind. It helped center me, made it easier to breathe past the gaping hole in my chest which was feeling less like an open wound every day, and more like a new scar. Sensitive, but bearable. 

By the third day, I was beginning to wonder where Rhysand was, what was so important that required his attention for days on end. Was he alright? Mor and Cassian didn’t seem worried, and I supposed they would be the first to know if anything had happened to their High Lord.

My worried thoughts irked me, though. Why was I worried about the male who had all but forced me to sign away a week of my life to be with him? Shouldn’t I be thankful he was gone? I couldn’t deny that I was growing antsy, and annoyed that I was feeling that way. I paced in my room, wondering why I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the meddlesome High Lord, and growing more agitated that he occupied my thoughts at all. 

Finally, giving into the ridiculous impulse if only to sate my curiosity, I reached inside of myself and gave a sharp tug on where I usually felt the bond.

Almost instantly, a low laugh filled my head, though it felt distant, as if coming from far away. 

_Why, hello Feyre darling. What can I do for you?_

_I was wondering why you bothered to expend so much energy bargaining with me when you’re not even here to enjoy it,_ I said sarcastically, quashing down the part of me that was relieved he was at least alive and well. Since when did I care?

Rhysand hummed, endlessly amused. _I didn't realize you missed my charming presence so much, Feyre. If you desire my return all you had to do was ask._

I gritted my teeth, instantly regretting reaching out to him. Had I lost all of my mental faculties? 

_No, I’m quite alright. Just worried that poor Mor is going to resent you for assigning her to babysitting duty. She has a mate, you know._

Rhysand hesitated for a half beat too long, and I wondered again if Mor had revealed more than she was supposed to, but I kept that thought hidden carefully behind my mental shield.

 _Mor chose her task of her own free will, I did not force her. Just as Cassian is training you of his own volition. It would seem you are very popular in my Court already, Feyre,_ he said in that low, sultry tone that never failed to send gooseflesh prickling over my skin. Not that I would admit that to him. 

I felt a sensual stroke of his claws against my mental shield, and shivered. Even at the distance he clearly was he could still reach me? The thought was enough to make my breath catch. Would I ever learn the true depth of the power he possessed?

 _Very good, Feyre. I’m impressed. You’ve done quite well while I’ve been away,_ he continued, unfazed by my lack of response. _I’ll return soon, don’t you fret._

 _I wasn’t,_ I bit out scathingly, but his answering chuckle was mocking enough that I knew he didn’t believe a word.

I climbed into bed, double checking the strength of my mental shields, and tried to shove the lingering echo of his voice out of my head so I could sleep.

Minutes or hours later, I couldn’t be certain that I’d actually managed to fall asleep, though I was exhausted. My thoughts whirred in my head endlessly, racing round and round in circles, covering everything and nothing. I tossed and turned, unable to calm them, the discontent making every position I lay in uncomfortable.

I groaned, finally giving up halfway through the night. My eyes were burning, heavy, but I didn’t feel rested at all. I needed to get out of my room for a little while. Maybe a quick walk would settle my mind enough to finally sleep. I groaned inwardly, thinking of how tired I would be for training tomorrow with Cassian. I’d be lucky if I didn’t pass out during the run at the start.

I didn’t bother with shoes as I slipped out of my door, padding on silent feet down the hall until I reached the staircase. I moved slowly and silently through the halls of the House of Stars, grateful for the quiet peace that managed to soothe me even in my restless state.

I realized after a while that my feet had carried me to the bathing chamber. Maybe a hot soak would settle my mind. The stones beneath my feet grew warm as I entered the room, marveling at the sight. Lazy tendrils of jasmine-scented steam curled through the air, the dim glow cast by the Fae-lights and candles flickered amongst the drooping flowers and greenery, creating an ethereal, calm atmosphere that beckoned irresistibly.

I was halfway into the room when I realised too late that the sanctuary was not empty.

Magnificent wings stretched wide to either side of a tanned, sculpted body that lounged, very much naked in one of the hot pools.

Sleepy, violet eyes flecked with stars blinked open, and sensual lips curled up into a smirk as they alighted upon me.

“Good evening, Feyre darling.”

I jumped guiltily, feeling heat rise in my cheeks as I stared at Rhysand. _Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down._

“Home so soon?” I said in my best attempt at nonchalance, frozen in place. My head swam with the heady scent in the air, the humid warmth of the room beating softly against my skin, muddling my thoughts. I needed to focus. I needed to—

_There won’t be an inch of you I do not touch…_

“My business concluded earlier than anticipated,” he said, eyes glittering as they trailed slowly down my form. I realized that I was dressed in nothing but a thin shift that ended far too high on my thighs. “Besides, it seemed that my star pupil was missing me.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms, even as my gaze was drawn dangerously, inexorably to his chest, the whorling patterns of his tattoos begging to be traced... _No, no, no, no. Stop._

“I didn’t realize you’d come running back at the slightest word. Maybe I was enjoying my alone time with Mor,” I quipped, but I’d inexplicably taken a step closer to the edge of the pool. I was close enough now that Rhysand had to tilt his chin up to look at me. It was more of an effort to drag my eyes away from the graceful, exposed lines of his throat than I would ever admit. 

He shrugged, and his wings flexed slightly at the movement. I stared unabashedly at them, grateful for a safe place to finally look. 

“Want to touch them?” Rhysand murmured invitingly, ignoring my jab. I jumped, guilty, knowing the interest was plain on my face. Clearly I was too exhausted to control my expressions.

“I…” My stomach flipped as I thought of running my fingers over the soft membranes, the strong arches covered in onyx scales. “If… I mean, would that… would it be weird?” I finished lamely, kicking myself for sounding like a stuttering, bumbling idiot. What on earth was I saying?

“I trust you,” he said quietly, the same smirk pulling up his lips. The statement sent a jolt through me, though. Trust? Rhysand trusted me? 

My feet were moving before my common sense could catch up, and I circled the edge of the pool, drawn like a moth to flame to where his right wing was spread out, half-submerged in the steaming water. I moved until I was behind him, my hands shaking as I knelt, grateful that his eyes and his front were now hidden from view. 

His soft, raven dark hair was damp and tousled, like he’d dunked his head underwater a short while ago and then ran his fingers carelessly through it. Droplets of water cascaded down the strong arch of his tanned neck to his broad shoulders. I was amazed at how quickly his skin had changed from Under the Mountain, though he wasn’t quite as dark as Cassian yet. It suited him, though I would never admit that to him. 

He leaned forward slightly so I could see the origin of his wings near his spine, and admire the seamless blending of flesh. How did he ever hide them with his magic? 

With trembling fingers, I reached forward and touched one onyx-scaled arch. 

A deep hum left Rhys’ throat as he leaned his head to the side, like a cat stretching out in the sun. My breath caught in my throat as I did it again, and I saw his lashes flutter, as if my touch was pleasurable to him. I let my fingertips trail to the wickedly curved talon towards the top, eliciting a deep groan from his chest that made my toes curl. He sucked in a breath as I stroked down one of the lines of his wing, brushing my spread hand along the membrane. I took my time, marveling at the velvety softness.

“Is it sensitive?” I asked before I could stop myself, my voice barely above a whisper. Rhysand chuckled, low and deep in his chest.

“Very. It feels like…” he thought for a long moment, then turned, beckoning me closer. He blew a long, warm breath against the shell of my ear, making me shiver.

“Oh,” I whispered, and suddenly my heart was thudding violently in my chest as our faces remained little more than an inch apart. I held his midnight gaze as I brought my hand closer to the base of his wings, where they met with his back. I pressed my thumb into the strong muscles there, and Rhysand’s lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut, practically rolling back in his head in pleasure.

“Feyre,” he groaned quietly in warning, but I was past hearing, past caring as I used both hands now to move up the silky, yet sharp scaled arms to the talons, circling around them before trailing down the wing membranes to the base, marveling at the mixture of textures, the inky darkness of the colour. Would I ever be able to capture the magnificence of them on a canvas? I was surprised the urge was even there, when I’d thought that part of me had died deep Under the Mountain.

I brushed against a particular spot and Rhysand instantly stiffened, his hips arching beneath the water as he moaned, a half second before his hand shot back to grasp my wrist, stopping me where I was.

“ _Feyre_ .” His voice was a deep, sensual growl, and I gaped, realizing that I’d found a, a… _pleasure_ spot on his wing. Unbidden, heat pulsed deep in my core as he turned, his starry gaze capturing mine as I stared at him in shock. “You should go,” he rasped, his lines of his face drawn tightly with lust. 

The echo of his moan played over and over in my head, looping endlessly like it was the only thing my thoughts were capable of processing. Vague memories of his eyes holding mine exactly as they did now filtered through my mind like mist I couldn’t catch in my hands. The phantom touch of his hands brushing over my body, sending frissons of pleasure rioting through my whole being, his dark laugh as I rolled my hips above his, arching my back to display myself to him, the way he’d looked at me while I pleasured myself...

“ _Feyre_ ,” Rhysand groaned again, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and I realized too late that every shield I had was down, and I was telegraphing every thought to him.

I jerked back, breath heaving in my chest. My legs wobbled dangerously as I scrambled away and stood, and without a backward glance behind I ran from the room as fast as my feet would carry me. 

I careened into my bedroom, slamming the door shut. I pressed my back against it as my heart pounded a wild tattoo in my throat, my entire body shaking from adrenaline. My thoughts were once again racing as I tried desperately not to think of how close I’d come to asking him for something I couldn’t… _didn’t_ want. I didn’t.

I _didn’t_. 

I stared out at the mountains, my fists white-knuckled at my sides. I’d been gone from the Spring Court for five days. Five Cauldron-damned days and I was… I had… 

I thumped my head back on the door, tears pricking at my eyes as I tried desperately to get my pulse, my breath under control. Damn him. Damn him. _Damn_ him. Damn Rhysand to hell. I wished I had never met him on Calanmai, that my traitorous body hadn’t already given into him once—gods, _twice_ —making it that much more difficult to resist him the longer I was around him. It didn’t help that I was beginning to dream about the nights we’d spent pressed together Under the Mountain. At least then I’d had the Fae-wine breaking down my inhibitions as an excuse, but now… 

A wash of nauseous guilt swept through me. Tamlin.

I hadn’t thought of him once. 

I slid down the heavy, carved wood of the door, burying my face in my hands. The tattoo felt like a brand on my skin, a blazing marker of my shame. Hadn’t Amarantha said it true?

_Inconsistent, unreliable mortal._

I was no longer mortal, but the memory of how I’d melted against Rhysand’s body as his all-consuming kiss set my whole body aflame played in my mind. I had done it over and over, starting on Calanmai, and then every damned night after in that horrible place, telling myself it was okay to give in, okay that it felt good, okay to let myself want.

I’d been so very close to doing it once more tonight. Admitting that was almost worse than lying to myself. A sob shuddered in my chest, hot tears of shame leaking from my eyes. I’d been a breath away from leaning forward and capturing those lips against mine. I had wanted it with every sinful, traitorous fibre of my body. Hearing his moan of pleasure that _I_ had caused…

 _No_. No. I wouldn’t think of it. I wouldn’t dwell on my failings, my desires. My betrayals. I was worse than the dirt Amarantha had accused me of being. I had gone under that damned mountain to save the male I loved, and came out of it…

The gaping, black hole in my chest bled anew, my tears coming faster and harder as the knot in my throat burned. I wasn’t who I’d been when I’d entered that dark place. I hadn’t even survived the ordeal, not really. It had killed me. I had died to save Tamlin, save the Fae, and it had broken something so vital, so crucial inside of me that I knew I would never be the same again. I could never go back to being that starving, weak, mortal girl. Could I really be the girl who loved Tamlin if I kept doing this? 

It felt as though Rhysand had always been there, a shadow, a spectre hovering on the edge of my thoughts. Ever since that damned first night I hadn’t been able to shake him, to banish the feel of him from my skin. It was like he was some dark, heavenly body I couldn’t help but be drawn inexorably toward. No matter how far I went, I always came back; and the worst part was…

I never chose not to, even when I could.

Even now a part of me wanted to return to that bathing chamber and step into that water with him, to find all the places on his wings, his body that made him make those noises again, and again. My fingernails bit painful crescents into my palms as my stomach flipped at the thought. I couldn’t understand it. This wild, raging desire, this _need_...It was insanity. I couldn’t make any sense of it.

I finally dragged myself up, and pulled myself into bed, feeling utterly miserable. How was I supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow? There was no way to avoid him.

Gods, I’d have to be here, to see him for a week every single month… for the rest of my _life_...

I stared unseeing at the ceiling in dismay. There was no escape, no amount of distance I could put between us to sufficiently suffocate these feelings. 

No, they weren’t feelings. Just… urges. I would just have to train myself to control them. I just needed to try harder. 

With that dismal thought, I finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  
  


_I couldn’t move._

_I scrabbled at the stinking, festering mud sucking at my feet but they were trapped, and I could hear the horrible slurping, gnashing sound of the worm getting closer and closer by the second. I pulled a large, jagged bone from the ground, desperately trying to scrape the mud from my feet but I only sunk deeper, and deeper._

_“Help!” I screamed, blind terror filling me as the mud crept up my calves to my knees. I tried to crawl but the mud was wet and loose, full of awful, writhing things._

_I pleaded and sobbed, scrabbling for purchase as the worm drew nearer, and I could see the rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. I wanted to vomit, wanted to scream, but the mud had reached my neck, I tried to keep it from going into my mouth, sobbing and pleading for someone to save me, someone, please, anyone._

_Something gripped onto my shoulder and I screamed, thrashing, I had to get away, had to—_

“Feyre!” 

A rough hand shook my shoulder, and I lunged, hand gripped around a bone weapon that wasn’t there as I aimed for the jugular, screaming in terror.

With an ease that shamed me, my captor grabbed my wrists, holding me still.

“Feyre, Feyre… shit, you're _freezing_. It’s me, It’s Rhys. You’re not there. You’re not Under the Mountain, you’re in the Night Court. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” the deep, soothing voice broke through my choking fear, jolting me out of my nightmare. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, Feyre. You’re okay,” Rhysand murmured as I abruptly went limp, my breath sawing out of my chest as I shook. 

My skin crawled, and a sob hitched in my chest as I tried to pull my wrists from his grip so I could scrub the invisible filth from my skin. 

“It was going to get me,” I cried, still shuddering from the mind-numbing terror that had gripped me in the nightmare. I could barely make out the glittering stars that swirled in his eyes in the darkness as he watched me carefully. “The… the mud, I was stuck… it was coming, and I couldn't—I couldn't move... oh gods...” I gasped out between sobs. Rhys nodded, and gathered me closer, wrapping his arms around me and rocking me gently side to side as he rested his chin on my head

“I know,” he murmured, his hands rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I know.”

“It was so horrible,” I whispered against his skin, my voice breaking as the truth spilled from my lips. I’d never spoken of what had happened Under the Mountain, not since I’d left. “I was so terrified, I wanted to vomit because of how… how it smelled in there, and, and—” my breath hitched as a fresh wave of tears pooled and fell from my eyes.

“There is nothing worse than feeling trapped and powerless to help yourself, or escape,” he said softly, and I could hear the deep note of sadness in his tone. I knew it was that of personal experience. “I would have killed her then and there if I could have, for doing that to a defenseless mortal girl. I considered trying,” he admitted, pulling back so he could gather my hands in his again. I sniffed, my breath slowly returning under my control.

“That’s why I threw the bone-spear,” I said shakily, and he huffed a laugh.

“That was… honestly the best thing that had happened to me in decades, when you did that.” A soft smile pulled at the corner of his lips then, and he glanced up at me from where he’d been studying my hands. “As awful as that trial was, watching you outsmart that beast with nothing but your nerve and instinct was… it made me realize you weren’t just a fighter, you were a warrior. A force to be reckoned with. I felt…” his voice grew thick, and he ducked his head slightly. “I felt Cassian’s spirit there with me in that moment. I hadn’t allowed myself to think of him, or Mor, or… anyone, for many years. But you fought like a true Illyrian that day, and it amazed me. I knew if anyone had a chance to break the curse, to defeat her, it would be you. Not any of the powerful High Lords of Prythian, but a mortal girl with the fire of vengeance in her eyes.”

I stared dumbstruck at the most powerful and feared High Lord in Prythian history sitting before me, tears in his eyes as he recalled my bravery in one of the most horrible, terrifying moments in my life. I thought of the years of unspeakable torment and misery he had endured under that mountain. Unable to fly, unable to leave. All to protect his court. To protect Mor, and Cassian, and everyone else he cared for.

“Can you believe the fate of your world rested on the shoulders of an illiterate human?” I repeated my words sardonically to him from the night before the last trial. Had it really only been a month since then?

Rhysand’s head dropped back as he laughed, a real, deep belly laugh. I surprised myself, feeling my lips twitch upwards in response.

“You’re not so illiterate anymore, dear Feyre. We’ll be testing that tomorrow, well… later today, actually,” he said, glancing out at the beautiful sweep of stars above the mountains. He looked back at me, his expression softening. “Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll tell Cassian you have the morning off.”

I nodded, and he finally released his hold on my hands. I instantly missed the warmth. I swallowed as he pushed himself off the bed, and headed to the door.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I said softly, tapping my temple guiltily. He’d mentioned the other day that my nightmares woke him through the bond, and it was embarrassing that my own weakness caused him to lose sleep.

“It’s no trouble, Feyre. You actually didn’t project it, tonight. I heard you, and I knew what…” his voice trailed off, a sad emptiness filling his eyes. “I know how terrible the nightmares can be. I didn’t want you to suffer alone.”

“You heard me?” I blinked in confusion. He had heard me all the way across the palace?

Rhysand nodded, flashing me a smirk. “Fae have excellent hearing, you know. I wouldn’t be the most powerful High Lord in Prythian if I couldn’t hear a pin drop.”

I began to roll my eyes but it was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Sleep, Feyre. I’ll send Nuala and Cerridwen to collect you for breakfast,” he said, and with a deep bow, headed out of the door, closing it softly behind him. 

I settled back down, lying there for several long moments as I fought my heavy eyelids, staring at the spot where he’d disappeared from sight. When I finally lost the battle and drifted to sleep, I dreamt of a city of starlight, and the rustling of wind over wings. 

  
  


The mountains were already gleaming in the sun when I finally awoke. Although it had been a tumultuous night and I was tired, I felt steadier, more centered than I had in... longer than I could remember.

A soft knock drew my attention back to my door, and a moment later the shadow maidens stepped in, offering soft smiles in greeting. 

“Good morning,” I rasped, my voice rougher than usual. I would have to sneak in some time for a nap later, I decided, as I quickly bathed and dressed, sitting calmly to allow Nuala and Cerridwen to brush my hair. I felt an odd sort of companionship with them. They’d been down there Under the Mountain with me, had spent years witnessing the horrors within, but never once had they been impatient or unkind to me.

I thanked them when they finished, and headed up to breakfast. Stairs were still painful, but I welcomed the burn in my thighs and calves. It made me feel strong. Capable. Alive.

Rhysand, Mor, and Cassian were all seated at the table when I finally hobbled in, the latter giving me a beaming smile when he saw my difficulty walking.

“How you feeling, Cursebreaker?” he chuckled. I scowled at him, lowering myself carefully onto the chair I usually sat in.

“Wonderful, thank you for asking,” I sniffed, taking a sip of the coffee already set out for me, sweetened with cream just the way I liked it. I hummed in approval, and I pretended not to see Rhys’ self-satisfied smile.

“Cassian, it’s her first week. Surely you haven’t been going too hard on her,” Mor scolded as the table filled with plates of food with a wave of Rhys’ hand. 

“Says the female whose been forcing her to read boring history all day instead of anything fun,” Cassian scoffed, piling his plate high with a mountain of eggs and sausage. He tutted, pointing his knife at me as I reached for a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Feyre, we talked about this. Protein first.”

I pouted, but obeyed as I copied him, though I gave myself more reasonable portions of the eggs and sausage. He slid a bowl of fruit to me next and I rolled my eyes. 

“I’m not like you, I’m not the size of a tree. I can’t eat all this,” I protested, even as I plucked out a few strawberries and grapes. Mor snorted, jumping on the chance to call him a great _oak,_ rather than an _oaf_. Cassian just shrugged, and happily shoved down another mouthful. Rhysand’s eyes glittered with humour as he ate in silence, watching the easy banter between us.

“When you get back to the Spring Court you can’t just go back to eating pastries and fluffy shit. You need substance to build those muscles, girl,” Cassian said, punching my arm lightly. I gave an exaggerated wince, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Croissants are a major food group, you know,” I said pointedly, and Rhys erupted into a coughing fit, having laughed at the wrong moment while drinking.

Mor sighed happily, beaming at me. “It is so nice to have another female around to help me give these two a hard time.”

“Doesn’t Áine help?” I asked, biting my cheek to hide my smile.

Cassian shuddered, and Rhys grimaced. “Oh, she helps alright. Thank the Mother she’s usually too busy training recruits or scouting. When she and Mor are together we all hide,” Cassian said sagely, and I couldn’t stop my laugh. Mor preened, clearly proud.

When breakfast wrapped up, Rhysand gestured for me to follow him. I swallowed, a little nervous to be alone with him again. A lot had happened last night, and having the buffer of Mor and Cassian had made the morning a lot easier. 

“Where are we going?” I asked when we passed the hallway that would have taken us to the library. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, but made no effort to elaborate. I steeled myself as we climbed a few staircases, gritting my teeth to keep from groaning as my muscles protested. 

We finally exited into a large round chamber at the top of what felt like a tower, another stunning balcony open to the elements spreading around the majority of the room, giving a sweeping, majestic view of the mountains and the stunning blue sky.

The center of the room was dominated by a large stone table made of what looked like obsidian. The stone wall opposite of the balcony was covered in a gigantic map of our world I had seen a few times in books my father had brought home. There were markers and flags and pins, the purposes of which I couldn’t discern. I glanced at the table where a similar map lay of Prythian and Hybern, this time covered in figurines that I instantly recognized. Troops. Armies. 

All of the courts had been marked on this map with towns, cities, and rivers. All except the Night Court. Not even a mountain range had been etched in, and I raised a brow at Rhys in question. He smirked.

“Couldn’t have just anyone stumbling upon this map and learning all of our secrets, now, can we?”

I scoffed, studying the map once more. “What does all this mean?” I stared uneasily at Hybern, where there were a great many troops, and the thin band that signified the Wall, all that stood between the violent creatures of the Faerie world and the human world. My sisters. My father.

“What do you see?” he countered, gesturing with his chin down at it. I frowned, recognizing several of the words that Mor had taught me. 

“A world divided in two, and Hybern…” I swallowed, cold fear skittering down my spine. Amarantha had been a general of Hybern’s. The Deceiver, she’d been called.

“Do you think it should remain divided?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the edge of the table, watching my face as my gaze flickered over the map. I swallowed, thinking of how vulnerable the humans were, how terrified of the Fae I’d been when I was mortal. 

“I… my family,” I said, glancing up at him. “My sisters, my father are still down there. They don’t take kindly to the Fae, nor do any of the humans that I knew.”

Rhysand nodded, his face grave. “They would be deeply impacted if the wall came down, would they not? Such a small sliver of land, there would be nowhere to run. Perhaps they would get lucky and sail across the sea, but they would need enough warning.”

I blanched, unable to suppress my shudder. “Is that going to happen?”

Rhysand was quiet for a long moment, eyes searching mine. “Maybe.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because war is coming, Feyre.”

The word clanged through me, lifting the tiny hairs all over my body.

 _War_.

“With whom?” I asked, my voice shaking as my eyes flickered rapidly over the map, taking in all where the armies and troops were all stationed, the too-small sliver of land that the humans lived on. The Wall seemed so paper thin and fragile, then, rather than the imposing, impassible thing it had always been in my mind.

“Did you really think it would end with Amarantha?” he asked quietly. Anxiety flipped in my stomach as I gripped the edge of the table. If she had seemed bad, what horrors slept in Hybern awaiting the moment when they could sink their teeth into us?

“Tamlin hasn’t said…” I shook my head, wanting to disbelieve him, but why would Tamlin say anything to me? He wouldn’t even look at the tattoo adorning my left hand, let alone mention the Mountain or what happened there. He wouldn’t let me leave the manor for fear of any lingering darkness from her reign getting its claws in me, and he wouldn’t tell me what happened when he and Lucien left on patrols…

I needed to speak with him, to demand the truth of what he knew. 

“Amarantha was an experiment, a distraction. We know he’s been searching for something these last fifty years while we were enslaved, but for what we are uncertain. What is certain is that he has been planning this invasion for over a century, and we are woefully unprepared,” Rhys said, a hard gleam in his eye.

“Will he attack Prythian first?” I asked, feeling lightheaded at the enormity of the danger before us.

“Prythian is all that stands between Hybern and the human lands he wants to conquer on the continent. If any were to intercept his conquering fleet before it reaches there, it would be us.”

I slid heavily into a chair by the table, my hands trembling. 

“Prythian has been weakened by Amarantha’s rule. Hybern will strike us soon. And he will strike hard. He knows now we do not have the strength to repel him, separated and recovering as we are.” Rhys slid his finger down, and tapped the thin line of the Wall stretching across our massive island. “He will seek to break the Wall down at some point, so he may more easily march his troops into the human lands and annihilate them.”

I shook my head in abject horror. Elain. Nesta. My father. They were all right in the line of fire.

“When?” I asked, my breath feeling tight in my chest. “How long do we have?” The Wall had stood for five hundred years, what power could possibly bring it down? Was that what Hybern was searching for—why he had waited so long to attack? A way to bring it down?

“I don’t know when, or even where. But that is why I brought you here today,” he said.

I looked up at him, taking in the grave, drawn lines of his face. 

“We need to figure out the when and where,” he went on. “And who his allies here may be.”

“But how could I know? How could he even have allies here?” I asked, horrified by the very thought. Even after all the horrors Amarantha had wrought there would still be those who sided with Hybern?

Rhys nodded slowly. “Yes. Cowards who would rather bow than fight his armies again. There are those in the Fae world, in Prythian and elsewhere,” he gestured to the large map on the wall where other Fae territories on the continent were demarcated, “that believe they should not have had their territories shifted and changed. There are many who believe humans should have remained their slaves, that they are lesser beings.”

I recalled the stories of how bloody and violent the war had been. “Did you… did you fight in the war?” I asked, and it occured to me suddenly that I had no idea how old Rhysand was. 

A muscle ticked in Rhysand’s jaw, and he nodded. “Yes, I did. I was young by Fae standards, but my father had sent aid to the mortal-Fae alliance on the continent, and I petitioned him to let me take a legion of our forces over to help with the conflict.” He sat down heavily in the chair beside mine, staring vacantly at the map below him, as if reliving the horrors he had seen. “I was stationed in the south, where the fighting was the thickest.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, a deep frown pulling at his brows. “I have no desire to see full-scale slaughter like that ever again.”

 _Let’s just say I’ve seen first hand what a festering wound can do in a matter of days to mortals. At best you’d lose the arm, at worst_ _— your life._

His words from the night of our bargain echoed in my mind, and I swallowed hard. A war against the Fae would go poorly for the mortals. Very poorly. So much so that this time they could very well be wiped off the map.

Rhysand gave a slight shake of his head, as if banishing the memories from his mind. “I am not of the opinion that Hybern will launch an outright assault, at least not at first. That would give the continent advance warning, and time to rally their forces. If he comes after Prythian, and the wall, it will be through stealth and trickery. I’m sure his plan was to keep us occupied with Amarantha while he found a way to break down the wall, but now that she’s dead he will have to find another way. She managed to do a great deal to destabilize us. There are now several new High Lords, young and untested. Fractured courts with High Priestesses circling like vultures, angling for control in the power struggle while things settle.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth. I couldn’t make any sense of this deluge of information, certainly wouldn’t be able to help. I could barely hold a sparring stick, let alone fight in battle.

Rhysand leveled a knowing look at me. “A certain someone told me of how you awoke from a dream, your fists bathed in fire.”

I grimaced, looking down at the offending appendages. Damn. I’d almost managed to forget.

“You have power, Feyre. All seven High Lords of Prythian gave you life, and in so doing we each gave you a kernel of our powers. You could potentially be one of the most powerful Fae in Prythian, I’ve already seen the evidence; which makes you an asset for the war to come. It could also make you a weapon, if you somehow manage to come into the wrong hands,” he said, his voice grave, but calm.

“I am not… I’m not an object or a pawn,” I insisted, glaring at him. He just raised a sardonic brow at me.

“Do you think Hybern cares about how you feel? He and his allies will see your potential and either kill you, or seek to use you. I don’t think I’m alone in my desire for that not to happen.”

“So you would seek to use me instead? Is that my only other option?” I spat, heaving myself up from the chair to stalk to the balcony railing. Anger roiled in my chest, but it was overshadowed by mind-numbing fear. “Mor said the High Lords would kill me if they knew I had taken their power.”

“That is also a possibility, Feyre, but Mor also told you how we can prevent that from happening.” I could hear him stepping closer as he spoke.

I shook my head, gripping the marble railing with white knuckles.

“You _need_ to train, Feyre,” he insisted, pulling my arm so that I had to face him. The stars swirled in his amethyst eyes as they bore into me, insistent and pleading. “You’ve already seen it. These powers will make themselves known whether you wish them to or not.”

“Tamlin said it’s too dangerous, that I should hide them or they’ll see me as a threat and kill me,” I shook my head, recalling our conversation from a week ago when I’d asked him if we should explore any powers that I may possess. Tamlin had gone nearly white with rage and insisted it was too dangerous, that training would send a message to the Fae and put me at risk. I still shuddered to think of the gouges he’d left in the wall when I’d argued that I could fight back.

“That is utter bullshit and you know it, Feyre. It won’t matter that you’re trying to hide these powers, because if left untrained they will manifest in ways that you cannot control, or predict. I would rather you be strong and capable enough to prevent someone from killing you for having these powers, than to hide in fear, only for you to explode at the worst possible moment, most likely at the slightest sign of a threat. Your innate instinct is to protect yourself, and your power will not care that you wish to hide it. It will protect you, and by then it will be too late.”

I chewed my lip, unable to deny his logic. 

“I need you to train for several reasons. The first being so you can protect yourself. The second being that war is coming, and with these powers you can become someone Prythian listens to, that _Tamlin_ listens to. He has soldiers, men that would be valuable in this fight, but he also has long-existing ties to Hybern—”

“He would never fight for the king,” I protested, aghast.

Rhys held up a hand, stopping the flow of words from my lips. “I need to know if Tamlin is going to fight with us, if he can use those connections to help us. His Court is right above the Wall,” he said, gesturing back to the map on the table behind us. “If the humans—your _family_ —have any hope, it lies in your ability to convince Tamlin to fight on our side. He and I are not on good terms, not only because of what happened Under the Mountain but… we have a long history. He would listen to you. You could be the go-between.” 

I leaned against one of the marble pillars holding the arched roof up, a wave of despair washing over me. Rhys was right. There was one glaring issue, however.

“Tamlin refuses to discuss these things with me,” I said dryly, pushing down the well of annoyance that threatened to rise in my chest. I knew Tamlin thought he was just protecting me, but this problem seemed too big, too important to cover up. Why hadn’t he said anything to me?

“Perhaps it’s time he did. Perhaps it’s time that you made him listen to you. This is not something you will be able to sit on the side for, safe and protected as you wear frilly dresses and plan parties,” Rhysand said, the disdain clear in his voice. I bristled at the insult, but at the same time a part of me wholeheartedly agreed with him, so I settled for glaring at him. His smirk let me know he’d meant for it to rankle me, and he was glad his words hit their mark. 

“I’m sure he had a good reason—” I began, but Rhysand shook his head sharply, cutting me off.

“His reasons don’t matter anymore. This is the reality of our situation, and every day he tries to keep you out of it, wrapped in cotton and lace safely ensconced in that estate, the more dire our situation grows.”

“It’s not like I want that,” I snapped, but immediately regretted my words. I clamped my mouth shut, cheeks blazing as Rhysand nodded, a victorious gleam in his eyes. 

“ _I_ know that. Make him see. The sum total of your existence cannot be to wear pretty dresses, plan parties, and rear children, Feyre. You are far too powerful, far too intelligent for that. You are a warrior. You are meant for a higher purpose,” he said, his violet gaze ablaze as it held mine. My breath caught in my chest at his ardor. He truly believed what he was saying. “Feyre, you could very well be powerful enough to be a High Lady in your own right.”

I shook my head immediately in denial. “There is no such thing as a High Lady.”

Rhys’ eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. “We can discuss that later, but yes, Feyre, there can be High Ladies. Perhaps you’re not one of them, but what if you could be something like that? Fire is just the beginning. There are six other Courts, six other High Lords, including myself, that gave you their power. What if you could blend into darkness, shape shift, freeze over an entire room—an entire army? I’m the most powerful High Lord in Prythian history, don’t you wonder what I’ve given you?” A smirk pulled at his lips, his eyes glinting with excitement, curiosity. What he spoke of terrified me, but I also felt… a thrill… run through me. Could it be true? Could I really possess all of those powers and more? 

Rhysand’s power, even when stifled by Amarantha, had been impressive. If he’d imparted even a fraction of it to me…

If I ever lost _control_ of that awful power…

I swallowed, turning back to the sweeping view of the mountains, feeling like my life was beginning to careen wildly out of hand. 

“Tamlin won’t allow it,” I said quietly, shaking my head. Rhys scoffed. 

“Tamlin is not your keeper, and you know it. Since when did you make yourself servile to what a male said or told you to do?”

“I let you force me to learn how to read,” I deadpanned, and Rhysand chuckled. 

“You know it’s to your own advantage, don’t lie.”

I hid my smile, shaking my head again. “It’s not that easy,” I insisted. I knew deep inside myself that Tamlin would forbid me from training.

“He can’t force you to do anything,” Rhys insisted.

“He’s my High Lord, and I’m his subject—”

“You are _no one’s_ subject,” Rhysand snarled, bristling. I tensed at the sight of those dark, shadowy wings that flared out behind him suddenly, then immediately turned away, shoving away other thoughts from my mind, like how they felt to touch and the way he’d…

_No, no, no, no. Stop it._

“I will say this once—and only once,” Rhysand said, his voice a low growl as he stalked to the large map against the wall. I couldn’t help but stare in awe at those inky dark wings, the dangerous, commanding air they gave him. “You can be a pawn, be someone’s reward who doesn’t fucking deserve it, spend your life bowing and scraping and pretending you’re less than him, pretend that you’re happy with the life he’s offering you, or you can grab this power—your strength by the horns, and never bow for anyone ever again.” He turned to me, his eyes dark fire. I couldn’t have looked away if I tried. “If you want to pick the lesser road, then fine. It will be a damned shame, and a waste, but your choice. But I know you, Feyre. I don’t believe for a second that you will be content being someone’s pet, their plaything to take off the shelf whenever it suits them, doomed to be wrapped in cotton and kept safe, kept in the dark for the rest of your days. You weren’t that woman as a human, and you sure as hell aren’t now. You’re not fine being some pretty trophy for a male who sat on his ass for fifty years and did nothing to change his circumstances, did nothing while you were shredded apart in front of him.”

I glared balefully at him. “That’s not—”

“Or,” he plowed ahead, stalking towards me now, his steps slow, sure, inevitable, “you can do exactly what you did as a mortal girl. You can take charge of your fate, master the powers we gave you, and make it count. You can make a difference, Feyre. When they add to those history books you’ve been reading with Mor, your name will be in them. You will make a difference. You will matter.”

I gaped at him as the full implications of his words hit me, one by one. He truly believed every single thing he was saying. He thought I could make a difference in the war, in Prythian. That I was strong, strong enough to be a threat to the High Lords, and to Hybern.

I stared at the map on the table, at the tiny sliver of land the humans occupied, where my family lived. They had no one to defend them. I looked back up at Rhysand, anxiety flipping in my chest as the choice—the only choice became painfully clear to me. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICKENS  
> cause apparently i'm writing PLOT now  
> kdasnfgaflkdnb  
> my autobiography should just be titled "it was supposed to be a one-shot"
> 
> question- would people want me to write a one-shot fic of them hooking up on Calanmai?? thoughts??
> 
> thanks for reading! xx


	13. The Fundamentals of Magic

Rhysand took me down to the library next, wanting to see my progress with my reading and writing. He wrote down a few sentences, telling me to transcribe them. 

I read them with much more ease than the first day, rolling my eyes once I interpreted what they said.

_Rhysand is a spectacular person._

_Rhysand is the center of my world._

_Rhysand is the best lover a female can ever dream of._

_Rhysand’s wings are bigger than Cassian’s._

I raised a brow at him as I copied the last one. “Really? Do you even know how to be a normal person?”

Rhysand grinned, his chin propped on his hands next to me as I worked. 

“Technically I’m not a person, I’m a Fae male, and no. I’m far too _spectacular_ for that.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face,” I said sweetly.

“Oh, nice. I came just in time for the good part.” I heard Mor’s laugh behind us, and I turned, shooting her an exasperated look.

“Where were you? I can’t believe you left me alone with him.”

Rhys pouted at me while Mor snickered, delighted by my less-than-impressed attitude with her cousin. She glanced down at the paper of the sentences I had read and copied, giving a very unladylike snort. 

“Really, Rhys? You’re probably making her more illiterate writing that garbage. Plus, we all know that’s not true," she said, pointing to the last sentence.

I pressed my fist to my mouth as I tried and failed not to make the same unladylike snort. Rhys scowled at us both, waving away Mor’s criticisms. 

“I’m just making sure you didn’t poison her mind with ridiculous anecdotes about me while I was gone.”

Mor gave a healthy roll of her eyes, flipping her gorgeous blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Rhys. We spent the whole time comparing notes about your eyes and how handsome your smile is.”

“As you should,” he sniffed, and I bit my lip to hide my smile. These two could be so ridiculous sometimes, it was so different than what I’d expected. “Have you heard back from Az?” he asked then, and I frowned, not recognizing the name. 

The teasing light died in Mor’s eyes, and her expression became grave, and drawn. It was like a cloud covering the sun.

“There was another attack. On the temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess was slain, and the trove was looted.”

Rhys grew utterly still as only the Fae could. I held my breath as I tried to process Mor’s shocking words, and the cold, murderous rage conveyed in one word as Rhys said, “Who.”

“We’re not sure,” Mor said quietly, disgust and grief warring in her face. “There were the same tracks as the last attack, signs of large weapons used, and no trace as to where they came from or went to; as if they winnowed in or out. Or flew. Pilgrims found the surviving priestesses who had managed to hide hysterical or catatonic.”

A choked sound of anguish left my throat before I could stop it, and Mor shot me a strained, but sympathetic look.

Shadows writhed and gathered around Rhys before those beautiful, brutal wings appeared once more. Even as my heart twisted in pain at what those priestesses had endured, I couldn’t smother the part of myself that blushed at the sight of them.

“And what was Azriel’s opinion?” Rhysand said, his voice still dangerously soft.

Mor glanced at me in apprehension, as if unsure of how much to reveal in my presence. I tried not to let it hurt, but even though my rational mind accepted their need to keep some things from me, it still stung. Rhys however, gave no indication for her to hold back, so she forged on. “He’s furious, Cassian even more so. He’s convinced it’s a rogue Illyrian war band bent on winning more territory. Az disagrees. Why attack a temple, then? There are better strategic locations to go after.” she said, clearly quoting the mysterious fourth member of what I was beginning to realise was most likely Rhysand’s inner circle—his trusted friends and advisors.

“Something to consider, though I did just spend the last few days making my position very clear to those who chose to support Amarantha’s reign, so I can’t imagine they’d be stupid enough to incur my wrath so soon after,” Rhys mused, and a memory tickled at me—a bloody, snowy battlefield covered in jagged, black mountains…

“Cassian and Az are waiting—” she cut herself off abruptly, shooting me another apologetic grimace. “They’re waiting at the usual spot for your orders.”

It was fine, I told myself. Bargain or not, I was still a member of an enemy Court, and that made any information divulged in front of me a liability. I was a liability. I knew it was irrational to feel so hurt by it, though that didn’t make it feel any better.

Rhys stared off into space, his eyes distant as he thought of things far away from here. 

“We could winnow…” Mor began, but Rhysand shook his head.

“Feyre agreed to train her powers today. I want to be here while she does so nothing goes awry.”

“We still have tomorrow,” I offered. The next day he would bring me back to the Spring Court.

I felt anxiety flip in my chest at the thought, then quickly tamped down the feeling. There was nothing to be anxious about. I would make Tamlin see how important it was to keep up my training, and he could watch after me while I worked on it there. It would be fine. 

Rhys considered me for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. Perhaps if this doesn’t command my attention for too long we can start later today,” he said, then turned to Mor. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

Mor gave me a quick smile before vanishing.

I frowned, not sure I’d ever get used to seeing it. “How does that vanishing work?”

“What, winnowing?” Rhys asked, blinking as if I’d pulled him out of a deep train of thought. “Hmm… think of it as two points on a piece of cloth, then you bend the cloth so those two points align, then you just… step through.” A small smile pulled at his lips, “Sometimes it’s a long step, and you can feel the dark fabric of the world as you pass through. A shorter step, say from one end of a room to another would hardly register. It’s a rare gift, and a helpful one. Only the most powerful Fae can do it, and even then it requires an immense amount of power to go long distances.”

“How far can you go?” I asked, genuinely curious, but also impressed. Mor had winnowed, which meant she was very powerful in her own right; and Rhysand…

He smirked, and when I blinked he had disappeared.

“Very far,” he whispered right in my ear.

“Fuck!” I jumped violently, turning to smack him on the shoulder. “Not funny,” I seethed. A wicked glint of humour entered his eyes again, and I was surprised when it made relief stir in my chest. Seeing him so solemn and full of rage had been jarring compared to his usual cocky, teasing manner.

“I would not be surprised, Feyre darling, if you yourself possessed the ability to winnow. You did receive power from all of the High Lords. We’ll add it to the training regime, how does that sound?”

“Oh, goodie,” I muttered, and his infernal smirk widened. “Shouldn’t you be heading out?” I asked, strangely reluctant to remind him of the pressing, sad duties that awaited him. As I feared, the stars dimmed in his eyes, and he nodded, stepping back.

“Yes, I suppose I should,” he sighed, looking out towards the mountains and the blustery wind rushing past. Good weather, I realized, for flying. 

“I’m sorry about the temple, and the priestesses,” I said softly, and before I knew what I was doing my hand was touching his shoulder softly in a small offer of comfort.

A delicate shudder worked its way through him at my touch, and when he turned back to me the strangest look was in his eyes that I had no hope of discerning. 

“Be well, Feyre,” he murmured, and stepped off the edge of the veranda into the sky.

My heart stopped dead, but right as I was about to cry out he shot upwards like an arrow, wings spread wide and glinting in the morning light. I stared in open-mouthed shock as he spun, and I could have sworn that he winked at me before he sped into the distance out of sight. 

“Show off,” I muttered, envious of how free and easy it must feel to fly.

I sat down to do the rest of the exercises Rhysand had written out for me to do, and even tried to read one of the books Mor and I had been working through on my own. I kept a running list of words I didn’t recognize or couldn’t be sure how to pronounce.

I blinked in surprise when the Fae-lights and lanterns flickered on, glancing out at the sky where the sunset had almost completely faded to twilight. I hadn’t even registered time passing so quickly. I stood with a groan, sore from sitting in one position for so long, and looked around. No sign of Mor or Rhys. Maybe I would be alone for the night.

I made my way to the dining room, hoping that whatever mechanism Rhys used to summon food would bring me a meal. I’d just passed the second floor when I felt a prickling on the back of my neck.

Cassian’s words flickered through my mind, and I stayed relaxed, my steps unhurried. 

_If you realize someone is trying to get the jump on you, don’t let them know you know. Keep the element of surprise on your side at all costs._

I felt the rush from my right and ducked, swinging my feet out to trip my assailant, and I heard a surprised grunt before a large, dark form stumbled past where I’d been a second before, thrown off balance.

“Good one!” Cassian laughed, and I straightened, crossing my arms as he quickly regained his balance. “You’re a quick learner,” he grinned, landing a friendly punch on my shoulder.

“Thanks, though I hope you don’t make a habit out of this,” I said dryly, and heard Rhys’ low chuckle from behind me. I raised a brow, pointing at him. “You, too. Don’t get any ideas.” 

“Why, Feyre. I would _never_ ,” he said with mock gravity, placing a hand on his heart. I rolled my eyes, ignoring Cassian’s snicker as we continued the way I’d been originally heading. 

“Where’s Mor?” I asked, glancing around to try and locate the blonde.

“She decided to stay and enjoy some _quality_ time with Áine,” Cassian answered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. I made a face at him, regretting having asked at all.

After dinner Rhys led me back to the library so we could start on the basics of magic. I fidgeted at the desk while he disappeared into the depths of the bookstacks to look for a few things he needed, anxious to be accessing my powers. What if I lost control? What if I hurt myself, or him?

Rhys dropped a huge tome next to me with a loud _thunk_ , and I stared at it like I thought it would lash out and bite me.

“What is that?”

“Theory of magic,” Rhys said cheerfully, pulling up a chair to sit beside me—much closer than necessary, I noted as my stomach performed a somersault. 

“You’re _joking_ .” I stared at the giant book with renewed horror. “I can’t read all of _that!_ ”

“We’ll be selecting the parts most pertinent to you, but yes, Feyre, you should eventually read all of this,” Rhys chided, clearing the dust off with a casual wave of his hand. He opened it to the first chapter, and I groaned, letting my head fall to the desk with a dull thud. 

“My brain is going to melt,” I whined, my voice muffled. I had just finished a day of painstakingly slow reading, couldn’t he have given this to me earlier?

“Now, now, Feyre, I’m not asking you to do it all tonight, but it’s very important to understand the fundamentals of magic and the theory behind it. Especially with the powers you might possess, if you don’t understand the structure behind it, or the source, you could end up burning a forest down by accident, or freezing people to death, to name a few of the deadly powers the High Lords imparted to you,” he said, tapping my shoulder pointedly. I heaved a sigh, hauling myself upright to stare at the first page. 

“You’re the worst,” I muttered, and began.

The moon had risen high above the mountains by the time Rhys finally called for us to stop for the night. He’d spent hours and hours talking about the different topics in the books, how it applied to his own magic. Even though I was tired and my eyes stung, I’d held onto every word with rapt attention, fascinated with the convoluted inner workings of the powers the Fae possessed. It also gave me a healthy dose of respect for the inherent risk and danger of the power, as well as its limitations, even though we’d only scratched the surface. He never tired of my questions, or withheld any information unless he said it was too difficult to explain in a matter of moments and we would dive into it at a later time. He was endlessly patient, and even excited as he talked about all the different theories, as if he himself had spent a great deal of time researching the wonders and curiosities of magic, and its machinations, its origins.

We rose from the desk, leaving the book to come back to tomorrow. Rhysand walked me to my room even though I protested at first, hands in his pockets as he gazed thoughtfully out at the brilliant night sky. I had to admit how well he looked in the darkness, how much it complimented him and made him seem more… kingly. 

“Thought for a thought?” he offered as we got to my door. I chewed the inside of my lip, making a face at the idea of admitting to him that I’d thought of him as ‘kingly’ for even a moment.

“It’s very beautiful here,” I said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. Rhysand smirked as if he was well aware I’d lied.

“Yes, you are,” he teased, and I scowled, reaching out to smack his arm. He caught my hand before I could pull away, and bent down to kiss the back of it. His fingers felt cool and strong in mine, covered in calluses from weapons I’d never seen him wear or use. “Sweet dreams, Feyre,” he said with his signature smirk, swiping his thumb gently over my tattooed knuckles.

My skin tingled like a brand where his lips had pressed as I tugged my hand back, and I resisted the urge to rub the back of my hand against my clothing to dispel the feeling, if only so it would stop distracting me. 

“Goodnight, Rhys.”

I ignored the heavy thudding of my heartbeat as I slipped into my room, shutting the door quickly. I could still feel the burn of his eyes on me, and the unwelcome heat that curled up my spine as a result. I needed to get a grip on myself. 

I readied for bed quickly, slipping under the cool sheets, hoping that my mind would settle. For longer than I cared to admit I tossed and turned, unable to shake the restlessness that had taken hold of me.

“Honestly,” I muttered, annoyed at myself and my inability to settle myself. I rubbed uselessly at the back of my hand as if it were the source of my problems, and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fall asleep.

Minutes later my eyes opened, and I groaned softly. My eyes were aching, I was so tired, so why was I unable to fall asleep? I was too keyed up, my mind whirring uncontrollably once again. Was it because I had gotten a break from training this morning? Did I really need exercise now to fall asleep? It never used to be an issue, though I suppose I could always go for a walk.

I quickly discounted that option, remembering what happened the night before. The bathing chamber was certainly out of the question this time. 

I bit my lip, blushing as I considered another thing that could possibly help me sleep. I hadn’t had much desire or opportunity to do that sort of thing back in the hovel where I’d shared a room with my sisters, and I had never really wanted to, back in the Spring Court for lack of privacy around sensitive Fae ears.

The memory of the time I had… done _that_ Under the Mountain stole into my thoughts, and I double checked that my shields were up. Cauldron only knew I would never live it down if Rhys knew I was thinking of that…

I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, I scolded myself. It shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed my mind, because I was with Tamlin, and it had been the Fae wine...

I let my fingers trail over my stomach, trying to imagine Tamlin’s strong, warm hands, but the thought crumbled apart as all that drifted through my mind was what uncomfortable dresses I would have to wear once I returned, what parties I would be expected to plan for the various simpering courtiers, and the insufferable, suffocating presence of the guards that hounded after me the moment I went anywhere.

Sultry, violet eyes flashed through my mind, the sight of fingers curling around the bedposts and cracking the wood as he fought to keep his hands off of me. 

I gasped a sharp breath in through my nose as a stab of lust pierced through me at the memory, and then another… 

I froze as a key part of the memory clicked into place.

We had only ended up in that room because I had been dancing, and Rhys had touched me by accident… 

_There_.

My fingers fisted the blankets as desire, hot and insistent washed through me. My hips rocked as I finally gave in to the fantasy, my hand drifting down my stomach to rub small, exploratory circles around my clit. I double checked my shields, paranoid something would get through. I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be thinking of him, and touching myself… but what was the harm? It wasn’t like anyone would know...

The forbiddenness of it sent another fresh wave of lust punching through me, curling low and hot between my thighs. I felt heat rise in my cheeks as I pressed harder on my clit, my other hand moving up to cup the heavy weight of my breast. I let my fingers pull and tug at the tight peak of my nipple, moaning softly at the pleasure. 

What if he hadn’t been so in control of himself? What if he’d given in to the temptation of me writhing on his bed, pleasuring myself before him, and done to me what he’d shown me in those visions in the Spring Court. I could imagine it so clearly.

_Touch yourself. Do it now, Feyre. Or I will._

_“Maybe I want you to,” vision-me whispered, trailing my fingers slowly down my thighs, smearing the dark blue paint._

_“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” the Rhys in my imagination challenged, but his fingers uncurled from the bedposts. He stalked forward, crawling onto the bed until he was hovering over me._

_“I think I do,” I breathed, cupping my breasts with my hands, tugging hard at my nipples until I gasped in pleasure. Rhysand watched me like a male starved, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he observed. I glanced down and saw the evidence of his desire straining against the laces of his pants. It sent a thrill through me. That was for me. He was feeling, reacting that way for_ me _._

_With a slow, careful brush of his finger, Rhys pulled the gossamer fabric of my dress to the side, and smirked, moving down onto his forearms so his face was closer to me. He pushed my knees apart, settling his shoulders between my thighs as he licked a long, slow stripe up my core. I whimpered, arching my hips up into the touch._

_“I wanted to watch you touch yourself, but I suppose I can oblige since you asked so nicely,” he said in his deep lover’s purr, then set to work, circling his tongue around my clit several times before sucking it into his mouth, humming in appreciation._

I moaned, my thighs trembling as I worked my hand over myself frantically as I lost myself in the vision, before remembering his words to me that had nearly sent me over the edge.

_Slide a finger into your pussy, Feyre. I want to watch you fuck yourself._

_Vision-Rhys chuckled, teasing my entrance with his fingers._

_“Is this what you want?”_

_I nodded, biting my lip as his fingers came back wet, and he reached forward to press them against my lips. My tongue darted out to taste myself, and I gave him a teasing smirk as his eyes glazed over with lust._

_Then, Rhys was slowly pushing a finger inside of me, and I barely muffled my moan into the pillow in time. He added another, curling them against my inner walls as his tongue began flickering over my clit faster and faster._

_“Oh gods, oh gods… yes… Rhys,” I whispered, my hips bucking into his touch as pleasure spread through me, hot, heady, and addicting._

_Rhys pulled back, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “I knew you wanted to fuck me that whole time Under the Mountain,” Rhys tutted, plunging his fingers in faster, a filthy moan tearing from my throat in response. “You pretended it was the Fae wine making you dance like that, making you look at me like that, but I knew deep down you haven’t stopped thinking of me, wanting me since Calanmai,” he murmured, laving his tongue over my clit again, moving faster and faster as he drove my pleasure higher._

_My back bowed off the bed as I gave a clipped cry, my thighs shuddering around his head as I ground my pussy into his mouth. The pleasure was almost too much to bear—too much, but I still needed more. Wanted more. Desperate, breathless moans tore from me as I felt my climax coiling deep in my core, building higher and higher with every stroke of his fingers._

_“Tell me, Feyre. Admit how badly you wanted me,” he growled._

_“Yes,” I gasped, chasing my orgasm now as my hips ground on his fingers, pushing them deeper. “I wanted you on Calanmai, I wanted you to fuck me,” I whimpered, and Rhys laughed, thrusting his fingers harder and harder, sending me hurtling towards the edge._

_“My, my, how would the High Lord react knowing his precious Feyre was spreading her legs for me, begging me to fuck her,” he purred. “How do you think he’d react knowing this pussy was mine from the start?”_

Blinding white heat slammed through me as my release detonated with no warning, my keening cries lost in the pillows. I shuddered, ecstasy rocking through me until I saw stars, Rhys’ name tearing from my lips in a gasp. My hips churned against my soaked fingers, aftershocks trembling through me with devastating effects. My skin tingled while I slowly came down from my high, staring open-mouthed into the quiet darkness of my room as I tried to come to terms with the fantasy my mind had just unraveled for me. 

_Holy gods._

My limbs felt heavy and warm, sated, even as my heart raced in my chest. I began to pull my fingers up to my lips before freezing, and wiping them off on the blankets instead. My cheeks were blazing, whether with lust, mortification, or a mixture of the two I wasn’t sure. 

I felt sleep steal its dark blanket of fog over me, and I let it drag me under as my frantic heartbeat slowed. I hoped against hope for a deep, dreamless sleep to distract me from what I’d just done, but even I couldn’t convince myself that it would truly help me forget.

-

I jumped in the bath as Cassian’s pounding fist on the door tore me from sleep the next morning. I scrubbed quickly and viciously to erase any and all lingering scent on myself, and got dressed in record time before slipping out my door that I barely cracked wide enough to fit through. I fervently hoped he couldn’t scent anything. The last thing I needed was a teasing, busybody Illyrian reporting back to Rhys what I had been up to the previous night.

The burn in my muscles and lungs felt good that morning, helped distract and ground me. In the stark light of day it was easier to tell myself it had just been a fantasy. Nothing to get worked up about, nothing to twist myself into knots over. It had helped me achieve a release I needed to sleep and nothing more. End of story. I never had to think about it ever again. 

Easy. 

Cassian tested me on the few self-defense techniques he had taught me the other day, and walked me through various scenarios. Part of me wondered if he thought I would really ever need these things, but he was earnest and serious enough in his instruction that I paid close attention, trying to commit all of them to memory. 

By the end of the second hour I was lagging, and Cassian took pity on me. He clapped me on the shoulder, making me stumble. “Alright, little sister. That’s enough for today. You may be leaving tomorrow but I fully expect you to keep up your training, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. If I’m ever able to move again,” I groaned, rubbing my knuckles against my sore muscles.

“So dramatic, Feyre darling.”

I couldn’t help but stiffen as I heard Rhys’ midnight chuckle drift to me from the entrance of the veranda behind me. I swallowed hard, glad my heart was already pounding heavily from exhaustion as I turned to glare at him.

A jolt lanced through me at the sight of Rhys standing, arms crossed casually as he surveyed the scene before him. I double checked my mental walls, glad that they were cooperating for once. 

It was nothing. I was just affected because of the stupid fantasy last night. It didn’t mean anything. 

Rhys looked at me with a flash of humour tinged with suspicion, and I felt a sensual claw-stroke against my mental shields, requesting entrance.

 _What?_ I clipped out, barely letting the glimmer of thought leave my shields.

 _You seem a little wound up, Feyre. Do you need help relaxing?_ he offered with a lascivious grin, and I slammed shut the small sliver of connection between our minds, turning away so I could finish my stretches. I tamped down on my panic, working to keep my face neutral. Did he know?

Cassian appeared blessedly unaware of the byplay, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes I didn’t trust—though in his defense, he usually always wore that expression.

After breakfast, Rhysand led me back to the veranda I trained on, and held out his hand to me.

“Come on,” he said, and I stared at his hand with a healthy amount of trepidation. 

“What?”

“We’re going to do a little experiment,” he said, and I tried not to think of the feel of his hand as I slid mine into. He pulled me closer, and in the next breath, darkness overtook us. 

It was instinct to fling my free arm around him, clinging tight as I felt us speed through the dark fabric of the world, as he’d called it. I gritted my teeth against the wash of his bergamot and ocean scent, willing myself to not let it get under my skin.

Being this close to him after the last few nights of precarious situation after precarious situation was playing havoc with my mental processes. We’d barely settled in a snowy clearing in the woods when I was tearing my hand from his, staggering away. I couldn’t meet his gaze, the memory of the noise he’d made when I touched his wings filtering through my mind. 

“Everything alright, Feyre?” he asked carefully, and I swallowed, trying to gather myself. I couldn’t answer him yet, couldn’t look at him without fearing what I might do. I hardly trusted myself anymore to act as I should. My mind and my body seemed to have two very different opinions on how to act around him, and I needed to regain my equilibrium if I was going to survive the next day. 

I took a few deep breaths, staring around us as I took in the forest. I finally risked a glance back at him, and he was staring at me, something like sadness flickering through his gaze before it was replaced with a stony calm mask. I tamped down the guilt for putting that sadness, that doubt there, but I needed to put some space between us. I was straying into dangerous territory, sliding further every day down a path I wasn’t sure I could ever turn from if I went too far. It was for the best if I kept a firm boundary between us. It was easier. 

“What are we here for?” I asked, ignoring his question. His lips flattened briefly in displeasure, but that too was gone in a blink. 

“To train. I figured we would test out a few things before returning to theory.”

My brows rose in surprise. I hadn’t expected to even start accessing my powers until next month, but perhaps Rhys was just interested to see what sort of powers lurked inside of me as I was.

“We couldn't do this back at the house?” I asked, rubbing my hands over my arms as the brisk wind began to bite through my clothes into my skin. Rhys smirked, though his gaze was still shuttered.

“As much as I trust you Feyre, I’d prefer the House to remain intact for the time being.”

I grimaced, but nodded. It was safer to do this where I couldn’t hurt anyone if I made a mistake or lost control. 

“Alright, let’s begin. I’m going to try to grab you with my powers, and you need to shield against it. Ready?” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. Some fighting stance.

“How?” I asked, swallowing nervously.

“That’s what you’re here to find out,” he crooned, a real smirk pulling at his lips now. I scowled, backing away a few steps. As if that would help.

“Can’t we start with something easy?” I asked, my voice growing high with fright. I wasn’t ready, I didn’t know how—

A whip of darkness lashed out without warning, and I screamed, dropping to the ground. It curled around my ankle, grabbing hold with icy strength. I tried to tug my leg out of its grasp, clawing against the ground to pull me away but it held me fast, pinning me to the ground with little effort. 

“Come on, Feyre. Push me off, shield against me,” Rhys taunted, and I snarled at him, wanting to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. I grabbed at the darkness, trying to wrench it off but it was like trying to grab smoke. No amount of yanking or pulling made it give way, and I saw a second tendril of darkness wrapping around Rhys’ shoulder, as if preparing to strike. 

I tried as hard as I could to will that fire back into my hands, praying it would be enough to burn it away, but not even an ember sparked. Wherever my powers lived inside of me, it was utterly silent.

“Is that really all you’ve got?” he laughed, striding closer as the second tendril of darkness began weaving through the air towards me. I glanced at it in panic, pulling and tugging my leg anew in a desperate attempt to free myself. “This is too easy, Feyre. Shield!” 

I cursed violently, throwing my hand up just as the darkness was about to reach me—

It halted, as if it had bumped against something. My breaths shuddered out of my chest as I stared, astonished. 

The darkness strained and pushed, sliding against a solid wall of whatever I had created. It probed, sometimes gently, sometimes with sharp strikes as it tested my defenses, trying to find a weakness.

“Very good,” Rhys breathed, but I felt the coil of darkness that was already wrapped around my ankle begin to slide up my leg.

“Shit!” I hissed, grabbing for it, and suddenly... I could. I stared in shock as I gripped it, ripping it away from my skin with hands that were glowing a brilliant white. The darkness bucked and writhed, like a snake caught in my grasp. “What the _fuck,_ ” I gasped, dropping it as it tried to wrap around my wrist. Rhysand chuckled, and the darkness dissipated with a wave of his hand. 

“Well done, Feyre. Very well done for your first ever try. I do believe that was a bit of Dawn Court light I saw there,” he said, and I looked at him in surprise. Gone was the cruel, taunting demeanor and in its place was something akin to eager excitement. He was genuinely thrilled. 

Had he just been goading me? 

“Prick,” I growled, the snow crunching below my hands as I pushed myself up. Rhys beamed at me, unrepentant. 

“I knew you could do it,” he said, as if that excused everything.

“Did you have to be a dick to me?” I spat, brushing clumps of snow from my clothes.

“It worked, didn’t it? You have a competitive streak. I just tapped into that,” he shrugged, sliding his hands back into his pockets. I glared at him, hating that he was right.

“Bold of you to assume you know anything about me,” I muttered, sliding into the fighting stance Cassian had taught me. Rhys noted it with a smug grin, three more tendrils of darkness beginning to swirl at his feet. I watched them in trepidation, wondering if the shield I’d put up was still there. 

Without warning my feet were swept from under me, and I gave a loud _oof_ as I hit the ground, hard. Rhys had winnowed next to me and took me down with a casual, easy movement.

“Always be aware of your surroundings,” he said, leaning over me with his hands on his knees. I bared my teeth, kicking out before I knew what I was doing.

Rhys dodged my blow, executing a graceful half spin until he was out of reach. I scrambled up, trying to summon the fire again. I pulled from deep inside of me, thinking of heat and flame, the crackling of fire and whoosh of conflagration.

I saw the flames erupt from my fingertips out of the corner of my eye, and it was my turn to smirk. A savage satisfaction filled Rhys’ eyes as he circled me, and we began the dance. 

I was clumsy and slow at first, tired from the morning’s training but I still worked to throw up a shield against his every attack. Every so often he would slip through a crack in my defenses and I would be brought to my knees, or my arm pinned against my side and I had to quickly free myself or I’d be immobilized. He encouraged me to reach for different magics, to try a shield of ice, then wind, then water. When he goaded me into making a shield of darkness like his I hesitated for a moment too long, and he struck. 

Long, cold ropes of darkness wrapped around my arms, pinning them both against me as I growled, trying to struggle out of them, but they may as well have been iron shackles. 

“Come on, Feyre. Free yourself,” Rhys stepped closer, the taunting grin back on his face. I cursed him, fighting with all my might but I couldn’t move my hands to grab it and tear it from me. “Stop thinking like a human, Feyre. Think like a Fae,” he goaded, taking another step closer as more darkness leached out from him, coiling around my shoulders, my hips, my legs, until I was almost wreathed head to toe in it.

Think like a Fae? How did one think like a Fae? I’d been human until all of four weeks ago. Was he insane?

He took a step closer, placing his finger under my chin, and I felt the icy, sensual scrape of his claws down the shield of my mind. It occurred to me again how unfathomably powerful he was, how vast and indomitable it felt, even though he held me with barely a thread of it. I had been so awed and frightened of it as a human, but now...

I possessed a kernel of that very same power.

I swallowed my fear, and relaxed against the bonds of darkness, letting them pull even tighter against me. I felt them slide up my throat, and I breathed deeply, pulling them towards me, into me, coaxing them further and further until it was all I knew, all I could taste, feel, breathe.

 _Come to me,_ I whispered, that same, intoxicating entreaty that had drawn me from my room on Fire Night.

I felt the darkness slide against my hands, rubbing like a friendly cat, like it recognized me. I gathered it to me, cajoling it to take the shape I desired, to listen to _me_ instead. It responded with delight, writhing and coiling over my shoulders, draping down, down, down until it reached the snowy forest floor.

“Perfect,” Rhysand breathed, his eyes glittering with savage pleasure.

I trailed my fingers through the incorporeal cloak of darkness I had pulled around me, admiring the cool comfort of it. 

“Why does darkness require surrender?” I asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper. Rhys stared at me for a long moment, as if he had never truly seen me before that moment.

“Because to hold something that is not there, one must not hold it at all. You must direct it, bend it to your will. Only then are you its master,” he murmured, drawing the edge of the shadowy cloak towards him. It slid over his fingers lovingly, a pet recognizing a favoured master. 

I swallowed, willing the cloak to dissipate and fade into the darkness underneath the trees. Rhys studied my face for a long moment before nodding.

“That’s enough for now. We’ll dive in further next month.”

-

I woke just before dawn the next morning, staring at the ceiling for a few long moments, wondering if Cassian would drag me out for a last-minute training session. When no knock came, I sighed, rolling out of bed. A strange twinge of sadness pulled at me, though I supposed it wouldn’t do to show up to the Spring Court sweaty and wearing Illyrian leathers. 

A smirk pulled up my lips at the thought of Lucien’s face if he saw me wearing them. Maybe I would, if only to see it. My humour shriveled up in my chest as the thought of Tamlin’s reaction occurred to me, the anger and disgust he would no doubt feel at the sight of them. 

Perhaps not, then.

I dressed quickly, before heading upstairs to fill my rumbling stomach. My appetite had certainly returned with a vengeance after all the training with Cassian, and I took a moment to be thankful it was so easy to fill it every day, that I no longer had to feel those horrific hunger pangs that had plagued my mortal life. 

I found Rhysand and Mor seated at the breakfast table, and I offered her a smile, oddly touched that she had returned to bid me goodbye. I had never had a female friend in my life, unable to really count my sisters whose relationship with me had been frosty on the best of days, and we had lost our fortune before I had entered society and all of our previous ‘friends’ had turned their backs on us. It was so new and different, but I couldn’t deny the intense gratitude I felt that Mor was so kind and willing to be friends with me. 

“I can’t believe you’ll be gone for three weeks! What am I going to do?” Mor groused, and I bit my lip to hide my smile. 

“I’m sure you’ll be very busy running the various realms I’ve put you in charge of and pay you to do so,” Rhysand said dryly, earning a childish face from Mor. Rhys summoned the food with a lazy wave of his hand, and we began to dig in. A mug of the coffee I favoured appeared next to me, and I allowed myself a small nod of thanks to Rhys, who responded with his typical self-satisfied smirk.

“Boo, you’re no fun, Rhysie.” Mor turned to me, tapping her delicately shaped nails on the rim of her tea mug. “I’d offer you some of the books to take home and practice with, Feyre, but…” she winced, and I nodded in understanding. They didn’t want Tamlin to confiscate any of their belongings they leant me. I didn’t either, so I took no offense to their reluctance. 

“There’s a library there, I’m sure I can find something interesting to read.”

Rhys snorted, and I shot him a scowl. Mor’s eyes glittered with humour. 

“Yes, please do. I’d love to know what kind of romance novels Tam likes best,” she said, throwing me a saucy wink.

Rhys stiffened, glowering at Mor as my face heated in mortification. I hid by taking a deep drink of water, willing myself to calm. I wouldn’t think of the bathing chamber, or what I’d… what had happened the night after. I pushed it far, far away, down into the darkest depths of my mind until my face cooled, and I was able to look back up at them without instantly giving away my emotions.

Mor shot me an apologetic smile, and I tried my best to ignore the icy stillness radiating from Rhys. 

“Where is Cassian?” I asked, hoping to steer us back into safer waters. Mor blinked, then launched eagerly into the topic change. I saw Rhys relax marginally out of the corner of my eye, and listened with mild attention as Mor explained how Cassian had gotten into a small tiff with their friend Azriel and they were now settling things the Illyrian way—until one of them bit dust. 

“So charming,” I deadpanned, and felt a small wash of relief as Rhys chuckled in agreement. I didn’t want to think of why I was so uncomfortable with Rhys being aware of the… physical aspects of my relationship with Tamlin. It was none of his business, and wasn’t polite table conversation to boot.

My fingertips tingled with awareness and guilt, as if I could feel the silky texture of his wings under them again. 

It was none of his business at all. 

When the time came to leave, Mor gathered me up in her arms, squeezing tightly. I felt my heart ache with longing at the sisterly warmth of the touch.

“Write to me if you get bored,” she urged, pulling back to hold my hands. 

I gave her a wry grin. “You’ll regret asking that when you’re trying to decipher my handwriting.”

Mor laughed, squeezing my hands affectionately. “It’ll be a fun game, and good practice for you,” she said.

“Alright,” I acquiesced with a small smile, and Mor hugged me one last time before stepping back, making room for Rhys to move up next to me.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his face carefully neutral. I nodded, and ignored the jolt that ran through me when he threaded his fingers through mine, and the last thing I saw was Mor’s upraised hand before darkness swept over us. 

I cringed against Rhys as wind tore at us, and his arm came around me, a warm, heavy weight across my back as we tumbled through realms. My heart lurched in my chest at the feeling, telling myself it was just fear of Winnowing. I heard Rhys’ breathy chuckle in my ear, and his arm squeezed tighter. 

Then—flagstones, hard, solid ground beneath me, the chirping of birds, lush, vibrant greenery—

We were back in the Spring Court. 

I blinked in the brightness, moving to extricate myself from his grasp but he didn’t loosen his arm. I glanced up at him, my heart lurching at the nearness of his dark perfection, the stars swimming in his violet eyes that held me captive for a few long, breathless heartbeats.

“I’ll see you next month, Feyre,” he crooned, his eyes dropping to my lips for one heart-stopping moment.

Heat slammed through me, but before I could even process a response he had disappeared, and I staggered forward, barely catching myself in time from falling to the ground. 

I threw a few creative curses down the bond, and a moment later I heard a low, sultry laugh filter back, clearly unrepentant for his ridiculous behaviour. 

I took a few deep breaths, trying to settle my racing heart beat. I looked up at the manor before me, my heart lurching for another, more anxious reason.  
It would be fine. Tamlin would be fine, and we would get through this together. The bargain was for the rest of my very long immortal life, it was something we just had to adjust and get used to. 

It would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more training and a lil bit of ~spice~ before things get a lil rough next chapter >:) i don't usually enjoy writing angst but i'm already part-way into that chapter and ho boy. it gon be FUN.
> 
> let me know what you think!! x


	14. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL I have no chill, I'm not sorry at all for posting so soon. all of your comments had me cackling with wickedness.

I found Tamlin in his study, Lucien leaning over his shoulder as they studied piles of maps spread before them, with two sentries flanking them. 

Lucien was the first to notice me, his eye going wide as he took me in where I lurked by the open door, the words dying on his lips mid-sentence. Tamlin’s head snapped up, and then he was bounding across the room, pulling me tight against him before I even had time to draw breath.

“Tam—” I tried, my words cutting off as he crushed the air from my lungs, then he pulled away, holding me my shoulders as he looked me over frantically.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” 

“No, Tamlin, I’m fine,” I tried to soothe him, ignoring the fury that lit his eyes as he took in my Night Court clothes, the strip of exposed skin at my waist. I was sure it was somewhat jarring to see me in the clothes of an enemy Court. 

Tamlin ignored me, continuing to run his hands over me as if to check every inch of me, turning me around and examining my back, as if he could see any damage done to me through me clothes. I tore out of his grip, whirling around to face him.

“I told you I was fine,” I said tightly.

His breath came in great gasps as he stared at me, a half-wild light in his eyes. “You’re alright.... You’re alright…”

My annoyance softened, and I nodded, taking his hands in mine. “Really, Tamlin. I’m fine. They treated me well, I promise.”

Raw fury suffused his face, and I stepped back, eyes wide.

“The Night Court doesn’t know how to treat anyone well. They do not know the meaning of the word,” he snarled, and I felt the blood leech from my face as claws ripped through his nails, stained with blood as they came out too quickly. 

Lucien and the sentries slid out of the room, giving us privacy. 

“They didn’t harm me, Tamlin. No one touched me,” I insisted, my voice softening as I watched the panic slowly ebb from his eyes. 

“He can harm you in other ways,” he croaked, the claws disappearing as he wrapped his arms around me once more, crushing me against his chest.

“I know, but I’m alright. Really, I am—” my words cut off as I noticed the deep gouges in the walls, the wallpaper torn and peeling. “You trashed the study?” I said, pain lancing through me. He had really suffered that badly when I had gone? 

“I trashed half the house,” he said, cupping my face in his hands so he could lean his brow against mine. “He stole you, he took you from me—”

“Tamlin… I made a bargain. He saved my life, and this was the price,” I reminded him as gently as I could, pulling away to look at him. He’d known this was coming, we both had. Was it really necessary for him to break and tear things apart, even if he had been upset?

“He probably only left you alone this time to make you drop your guard. You have no idea the games he plays, Feyre, the horrible things he’s capable of—”

I didn’t bother correcting him. I knew exactly what games Rhys played, and how dearly it had cost him, though he would have the rest of Prythian believing the other narrative. I would respect Mor and Rhys’ wishes to keep their image intact, although it would make this process that much more difficult. 

I doubted Tamlin would even believe me if I tried to tell him the truth.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll be careful next time,” I said placatingly, even as the deceit twisted in my gut. 

“There won’t be a next time,” Tamlin growled, gripping my shoulders tightly again.

I blinked in shock. “You found a way to break the bargain?”

“I’m not letting you go,” he swore, but I could hear it for the empty promise it was.

I placed my hand on his cheek, trying to pull him out of the rage he had spiraled into.

“I’m home now, everything’s alright,” I said, and he heaved a sigh, nodding, before his lips crashed against mine with no warning. 

I made a little noise of surprise in the back of my throat, but relaxed into the kiss, letting him lead it. He would be okay now that the initial shock had worn off. I sighed, threading my fingers through his hair, opening my lips to deepen the kiss when he pulled back, swallowing thickly. 

“I need to ask you some questions,” he said, and the low, gentle warmth that had begun to curl in my chest from his kiss fizzed out like a candle doused in water. 

“Like what?” I asked cautiously, and I was suddenly, embarrassingly aware of the lingering scent of Rhysand covering me as he held me there. It was so jarringly different from his own rain and new earth scent that I stiffened, guilt stealing hot and thick through my blood. Did he think… oh Cauldron, what if he thought we were… that we had…?

I shoved away that dangerous train of thought as he slid his hands down to my waist, holding me carefully away from him, his emerald eyes boring into mine pleadingly.

“I have to ask you about it, while the memories are fresh.”

Heat turned to ice in my veins, and I stepped back. We hadn’t been apart for so long since Under the Mountain, and he wanted to press me for information about the Night Court?

“Tamlin.”

He held up a hand to stop my words, calling for Lucien. I stood there, frozen in place as a few moments later Lucien stepped into the study, grimacing as he read the shock in my expression. Tamlin turned, striding back to his desk and taking a seat there, motioning for me to sit in one of the smaller chairs before it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, motioning for Lucien to join him. “This is for our safety, for the good of the Spring Court.”

The words rang hollow in my ear as I moved forward, sitting stiffly in one of the straight-backed chairs. The distance between us yawned like a chasm. 

“Hello, Feyre, I’m glad that you’re back and all in one piece. I could do without the Night Court attire, though,” Lucien said, winking at me with his good eye as he claimed the seat beside me rather than standing by Tamlin. I felt a wash of gratitude at the subtle gesture of solidarity, even as something dark and acidic lodged its claws deep in my stomach.

Tamlin gave a dark grunt of agreement, but I held my tongue. It wouldn’t help anyone or anything if I told them how much more comfortable these clothes were than the stuffy dresses I usually wore, not to mention the Illyrian leathers that made me feel strong and capable.

“We need you to tell us everything, Feyre,” Tamlin began, exchanging a long, speaking look with Lucien. “The layout of the Night Court, what you saw, who you were with, what weapons or powers they possessed, anything Rhysand said, anyone he spoke to. Anything you can remember at all.”

An icy chill slid down my spine. “Why? What are you going to do?” I asked, a spark of fear igniting in my chest as I thought of Tamlin’s claws sinking into Mor, or Lucien crossing blades with Cassian. 

“Knowing anything about my enemy’s plans or his home is vital. Anything can give us an advantage.”

“An advantage for the war on Hybern?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Tamlin went utterly still. “Who told you anything about Hybern?”

“Rhys did. He said war is coming,” I said carefully, remembering that he had wanted me to talk to Tamlin, to gauge his loyalties and which side he would fight on. 

“There will be no war,” he scoffed.

“He said it’s inevitable, Tamlin. That Amarantha was just the beginning,” I said, ignoring Tamlin and Lucien’s twin flinches at the mention of her name. “He said we’ll be hit hard, that Hybern won’t stop at Prythian. He’ll tear the wall down if he can.”

“And Rhysand knows everything, does he?” Lucien said dryly. I tried not to bristle at his tone.

“I know you two may not care since you’re immortal and removed from such things, but I still have family below the wall. People _I_ love who are directly in the line of fire,” I said coldly. Lucien had the grace to look contrite, but Tamlin’s eyes flattened. 

“There will be no conflict with Hybern, no war,” he said as if that were the end of the discussion.

“That’s wishful thinking,” I snapped.

I felt Lucien wince next to me, and I took a deep breath, trying to gather my composure. I was struggling to remain calm and non-confrontational.

“We can discuss this later, now is not a good time,” Tamlin said tightly. “Let’s start with the layout of his Court. Is it true it lies underneath a mountain?”

I stared at Tamlin for a long moment, wondering where the sweet, kind male I’d known had gone. Had Amarantha really broken us both so beyond repair? 

“This feels an awful lot like an interrogation,” I said, unable to keep the ice from my voice.

I heard Lucien’s sharp intake of breath, but he remained silent.

Tamlin braced himself on his forearms, gazing at me earnestly. “We need to know these things, Feyre. It’s for our safety. Or—or can you not remember?”

I stifled my temper, pushing it down, down, down until it was nothing but a smouldering ember deep inside of me, almost winking out. “I can remember everything just fine. He didn’t damage my mind.”

I considered telling him about the shielding lessons, but the words died on my lips for some inexplicable reason. Maybe a few things would be best kept to myself for now.

“Please,” Tamlin urged, and I sighed, trying to put myself in his shoes. Could I really blame him for being so paranoid?

“Well, he did mention there was a Court beneath the mountain, but we were in a palace atop the mountain that was all open to the sky,” I began, noting the surprise that flared in their eyes. I gave them vague details of the surrounding mountains, finding those particular thoughts difficult to conjure, like wading through oil and mud. Maybe Rhysand _had_ spelled my mind, or perhaps the palace itself had been spelled to be difficult to remember the layout of once you left. I hid my smirk at his cleverness. Clever, tricky High Lord.

I described Rhys’ tower room as best I could, and the various maps he’d shown me. Tamlin grilled me on the figurines, and I could tell he was upset that I hadn’t paid more attention to the specific positions and locations of the pieces; though why he thought I would have was beyond me. I told him of the conversation with Mor ( _‘The_ Morrigan?’ Lucien had blanched, something like pain flashing across his face before Tamlin flashed him a look to silence him,) and the temple at Cansere that had been sacked.

“She said Cassian thought it was the Illyrians, but…” I was saying, when Tamlin froze.

“Cassian? Cassian was there?” Lucien spluttered, and I frowned at him.

“Yeah... Why, do you know him?”

Tamlin’s face was like a thundercloud, and I couldn’t help but regret saying anything. “He’s Rhysand’s General. He’s a bloodthirsty, murderous bastard, who revels in the violence and mayhem on the battlefield.”

I snorted.

Tamlin and Lucien gaped at me, and I kicked myself for not controlling my outburst.

“Sorry, I just… really? _Cassian?_ We’re talking about the same person, right?” I said, looking between them incredulously. It was hard to imagine the cheerful, boisterous male who had joked with and teased Rhys like a brother as the evil murderer they were making him out to be. A great warrior? Absolutely, that was true beyond a doubt, but I couldn’t believe for a second that there was an evil, malicious bone in Cassian’s body. 

Lucien nodded, and Tamlin looked grave.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, his voice cold and biting.

I frowned, unsure of how much to reveal. “I… well, we spent quite a bit of time together throughout the week. He was really nice to me, and… just very friendly overall.” I refrained from describing him as _fun_ , thinking that would decidedly not go over very well.

Lucien’s mechanical eye whirred and clicked as he stared at me in utter shock. 

I steered the conversation back to what Rhys had told me about my potential powers in the tower room, skipping over the part where I’d woken up, fists engulfed in flames and the fact that we had already begun to train. A part of me twisted uncomfortably at how much information I was holding back, but I needed to gauge Tamlin’s reaction first. 

“Those powers could make themselves known any day now, whether I want them hidden or not,” I said carefully, willing myself to hold his gaze.

“We’ve already discussed this, Feyre. It’s too dangerous to look into,” he said, his eyes darkening as he considered what I said.

Lucien stepped in, turning to me. “I know for a fact my bastard of a father would not be pleased to know you possess a kernel of his power. It’s something he and other High Lords might kill you for.” I revealed nothing, especially that Mor had said almost the same thing to me.

“I should train, then, so when they eventually find out about them I’m too strong for them to do anything about it,” I said, carefully paraphrasing Mor’s words to me.

Tamlin’s face went white with rage, and he slammed his fist on the table. “Absolutely not,” he thundered, and my back went rigid. “Training would draw too much attention to you. There’s no need to put you at risk, to invite trouble. I can protect you from any threat that comes our way.”

 _Like you protected me from Amarantha?_ I wanted to say, but I shoved the cruel words away even as the memory of my screams echoed in my mind. It was unfair of me to even think it.

I took a deep breath, shoring up my resolve. I would not allow another Amarantha to happen. I would not allow the King of Hybern to murder more innocent people, to bring down the wall and hurt my family and countless other innocent, defenseless humans.

“I could use my powers against Hybern, Tamlin. I could make a difference in this war,” I said firmly, fisting my hands to hide the trembling in my fingers. 

“That is _out_ of the question,” he snarled. “There will be. No. War.”

“Don’t ask me to sit out of this, Tamlin. Don’t ask me to leave my sisters, my father defenseless while Hybern finds a way to rip down the wall and annihilate the humans,” I hissed, pressing my fists into my thighs as I felt the tell-tale heat of fire beginning to lick at my palms.

I heard wood groaning as Tamlin dug his claws into the mahogany of his desk. “You have no training in battle, or weaponry. Even if I began training you it would be years until you could hold your own on a battlefield, and I refuse to let you risk yourself like that. Regardless of what Rhysand thinks you’re capable of I have no intention of letting you anywhere near a battlefield, especially if it means revealing the powers you possess which would make you a target for every other High Lord in Prythian.”

“Cassian could—” I began, but Tamlin roared, pushing back from his desk in a violent flurry of movement, his chair clattering against the wall.

“ _No._ You will stay far away from that lying, murderous bastard or so help me Cauldron, Feyre. If he comes anywhere near you again I will tear out his throat and pin his Cauldron-damned wings to my wall,” he snarled, his eyes half-wild with wrath. I stared at him in open-mouthed horror as I fought tears of anger and fear that stung my eyes, the nausea that roiled through me. How could he say such a gruesome thing? Just the thought of such a thing happening to the warm, laughing warrior made me sick to my stomach.

Lucien was ashen-faced, but remained silent. 

“I should fight,” I said, trying to put steel in my voice but it came out cracked, strained. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous. It’s the right thing to do.”

“ _I_ care, Feyre. I care that you’d be fighting with enemies to your front and back, I care if you get hurt, if you die, if you will be in danger every moment for the rest of your life, clearly something that Rhysand does not care about. There will be no training, and this knowledge does not leave this room.”

“But Hybern—” I tried again, but Tamlin sliced his hand through the air, cutting me off.

“I have my sources looking into it, Feyre,” Lucien said carefully, trying to diffuse the situation. I gave him a beseeching look. He had to understand the risk of not training me, the futility of it. “If…” he began, wincing as Tamlin’s furious emerald gaze turned to him. “If we trained her in secret, perhaps…”

“Too many risks, too many variables,” Tamlin said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “My decision is final.”

I ground my teeth together, swallowing the angry words I wanted to hurl at him. It wouldn’t solve anything. I could yell at him until I was blue in the face, and he still would find a reason to say no.

Tamlin took a deep breath, as if to settle himself. “Describe his map room to me again.”

End of discussion. No room for argument or disagreement. 

We stared each other down for a long moment, and I felt the wound in my chest that had scarred down somewhat this past week rip open anew, and begin bleeding.

I stood slowly, keeping my chin high so he couldn’t see how much his words had hurt me.

“I apologize, but my travels have left me weary. I am going to retire to my room. Perhaps after I’ve rested we can go over it again,” I ground out, my words stiff and formal, then I turned to leave.

“We need to do this now, Feyre, before the details slip away from you,” Tamlin argued. I froze with my back to him, swallowing around the hard knot in my throat that felt oddly like betrayal.

 _You are no one’s subject_.

Maybe Rhys had altered my mind after all, but in a way far more powerful than magic ever could be. 

I strode out the door without a word or a glance behind, slamming it closed behind me with a ring of finality.

I was halfway to the staircase when I heard the study door open behind me, but I didn’t turn. I tried to school my face in the blank, bored mask I’d seen Rhys use.

“Oh, my Lord! I hadn’t realized you were still in,” a sweet, female voice trilled from near the entrance of the kitchens, and only surprise and confusion were enough to make me turn around. 

Light golden hair and aqua blue eyes turned to meet mine, widening slightly as she took in my cold, blank expression.

“Lady Feyre—it must be you, my goodness! Thank the Cauldron you’ve returned unharmed,” she simpered, hurrying towards me as Tamlin strode up to us, eyeing me warily as I took in the strange woman. She wore a blue-gray hooded robe cinched at her slim waist with a belt of limpid, sky blue stones. The phases of the moon were tattooed in dark blue ink over her pale brow, and I realized she was one of the priestesses Mor had told me about that resided in the different courts in Prythian. 

I remembered the attack on Cansere, and my hostility softened slightly, wondering if anyone she’d known had been there… or hadn’t made it.

“Feyre, this is Ianthe, a High Priestess and childhood friend of mine,” Tamlin said, his eyes searching my face carefully, but I refused to meet his gaze.

She dipped in a low curtsey. “I am so deeply honoured to meet the Cursebreaker who set these lands free. You are truly Cauldron-blessed, you’ve given such hope to our people here,” she breathed, her eyes bright with almost worshipful admiration.

I shifted uncomfortably, the faces of the Fae I’d slaughtered flashing in my mind’s eye before I could suppress the thought. The stones on her belt matched those of the female who I’d killed. “Greetings,” I said stiffly, sliding a subtle glance at the staircase, searching my mind for a good enough reason to excuse myself without seeming too rude.

“My apologies, Lady Feyre, you must be exhausted after enduring a week in the horrid Night Court. I will be at dinner later if you would do me the honour of sitting beside me. I have so many questions,” she effused, and I nodded awkwardly, side-stepping closer to the stairs.

Tamlin opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something to me, but Ianthe rested her slim hand on his forearm.

“That reminds me, I wanted to speak with you, Tamlin…” she began, and I beat a hasty retreat, grateful for her subtle intercession. 

I locked my door once I got to my room, and stalked to the bathing chamber. I drew a bath for myself and carefully undressed, stashing the Night Court outfit in one of the rarely used cupboards so no one would take it and burn it. I would need it in a few weeks anyways. 

I sank into the bath, my heart beating sluggishly, painfully in my chest. I didn’t understand Tamlin’s violent anger towards the thought of training me. Did he want me to stay useless and soft for the rest of my life? Who even would it send a message to? Who was watching enough to care? His reasons felt paranoid and irrational to me, only building the anger inside of my chest. 

I took a deep breath, and focused on the water around me. If he wouldn’t train me, I would just have to train myself then. 

I reached out with my senses, feeling the flow of the water, the ripples and waves each of my minute movements created. I thought of the moon, pushing and pulling the tides, and tried to do the same. I willed the water away from me, then pulled it back. In, out, in, out, in time with every breath. 

I watched the water begin to shift around me, then slowly begin to rock in the tub. I tried to keep it from spilling over the edges, but it was difficult to control the edges, and some splashed to the tiled floor. I finally let go, my arms going limp as I caught my breath. Using magic was even more exhausting than running, and I wondered if Rhys had been correct when he’d claimed I had the potential to be extremely powerful. I lowered and raised my mental shields a few times, shoring them up brick by brick, smoothing them over until they were walls of glittering black adamant. Impenetrable, unyielding. 

I held my hand above the water, a small pool of it cupped in my palm. I bit my lip, frowning as I concentrated, trying to pull the water together to create one large drop. The water trembled, the edges slowly twitching together, but a knock at my bedroom door shattered my concentration, and it splashed down, flowing out of my fingers.

“Lady Feyre?” Alis’ muffled voice came through the door as the handle rattled. I grimaced, sinking deeper into the water. Maybe if I remained quiet she would think I was asleep and leave. It wasn’t that I hadn’t missed the faerie’s company, but my argument with Tamlin had left me in a foul mood, and I was feeling less than charitable.

A soft sigh drifted through the wood, and I winced guiltily. “Lord Tamlin wished for me to discuss fabrics for your dress for the Winter Solstice ball next month,” she said, and I hung my head. I didn’t want any more silly, useless dresses. I didn’t want to spend countless hours comparing beading, picking out wreaths and garlands, or sampling the menu. I didn’t want to sit there and smile while Tamlin’s courtiers simpered over me with sycophantic worship, trying to get in my good graces when I couldn’t even be bothered to remember their names.

I didn’t want any of it.

I winced as the water around me began to grow hotter, and I quickly shoved down my helpless anger, pushing it deeper and deeper until I could lock it behind an iron door inside of me, stifling it and the fire that had sprung to life inside of me. 

I lifted my hands from the water, watching steam curl from my skin. 

“I’ll be ready in a little while,” I said, just loud enough for her to hear me. I heard her give a soft sigh, and pad away.

Rhys’ words echoed in my mind like a dark omen. _These powers will make themselves known whether you wish them to or not._

I’d known Tamlin would want to forbid me from training, but I hadn’t thought he would be so stubborn, so fixated on what he thought was best that he wouldn’t even listen to my arguments, my reasons for wanting to fight.

Hoarfrost crept up the edges of the tub, cooling the water until it was almost freezing. I stared off into space, warming and cooling the water alternately for countless minutes, until I could change it degree by degree at will, until it had taken the edge off of the roiling power inside of me so it felt less like a caged beast and more like a slumbering wolf.

If he wouldn’t train me, I would just have to do what I could on my own. 

I finally dragged myself from the tub long after my skin had grown pruny, feeling drained after using my powers much more than I had yesterday. I dried myself off, rifling through mountains of tulle and lace in my wardrobe until I found another riding outfit, unable to stomach the thought of putting on a dress right now. 

I slipped on the tunic and breeches I found, missing the solid weight where my knives used to sit at my hips. The Attor had taken them Under the Mountain, and I hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask anyone to try and retrieve them. I wouldn’t wish that journey on anyone for something so trivial. Maybe Rhys or Cassian could provide me with new ones.

The fact that I thought of them first for it and not Tamlin made something deep inside of me ache.

It wasn’t yet noon as I went downstairs, moving casually towards the back door to the gardens. I needed to blow off some steam so I could be more amicable when I next saw Tamlin. 

I ignored the sentries that followed me with their keen eyes as I took off down the path at a jog. I couldn’t tell if I was going as fast as I usually did when I was chasing after Cassian, but I tried to push myself, reveling in the feel of my muscles working, the way my mind seemed to quiet as it finally had something else to focus on. I couldn’t fully stifle my thoughts, but it was enough to at least pause my incessant worrying over the issue of training my powers.

I breathed heavily, pushing myself faster, my thighs and calves burning with effort. I couldn’t move as easily as I had in the Illyrian leathers, but I knew I had to make do with what I had. I was just rounding a copse of willow trees when I caught a flash of auburn hair in the corner of my eye.

Panic slammed into my chest as I careened to a halt. Amarantha, she had returned, somehow she was here, she was coming to kill me—

“What the hell are you doing?” Lucien demanded as he stalked towards me. I felt the frantic pounding of my heart as it tried to beat its way out of my chest. Lucien. It had been Lucien’s hair I saw, not Amarantha. 

“Running,” I said matter-of-factly, placing my hands on my hips as I tried to catch my breath. Lucien scowled, shaking his head.

“Feyre, what were you thinking? How could you not tell anyone you were leaving the manor? The sentries thought you were running _away._ Not to mention Tamlin doesn’t want you training,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at me. I felt the equilibrium I’d gained from my run shatter like a thousand pieces of glass.

“I didn't realise I needed permission now to move about the grounds, or do anything of my own volition. You’re really going to try to ban me from exercising? Really? What, should I ask your permission first before I take a piss, too?” I snapped, my temper flaring hot and volatile.

Lucien shook his head, blowing a sharp breath out of his nose. “No, Feyre, but there are still risks and Tamlin needs to know you’re being safe, not deliberately disobeying him.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Lucien,” I hissed, stalking closer to him. “Since when is it disobeying him to be on the grounds? I’m allowed to go for a run if I want to. He can’t possibly think he can control what I do on his own damn property.”

“It’s not controlling, Feyre, it’s ensuring your safety,” he cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Some High Lord he is if I can’t even move about his personal estate grounds without getting murdered,” I sneered, and immediately regretted my words as the blood drained from Lucien’s face.

“Excuse me?” 

I heard the deep growl rumble from behind me, and I whirled around to see Tamlin standing there, chest heaving with ire as he glowered at me. I blanched.

“Tamlin, I—”

“Get back to the manor, Feyre. _Now_ ,” he gritted out, blood-tipped claws glinting as they tore from his knuckles.

My heart sank. “I didn’t mean it, Tamlin. I was just frustrated—” I pleaded, but he snarled, the very ground trembling at the sound. 

“ _Now_.”

I flinched, and took off without a backward glance.

I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the day.

The next morning every riding outfit was mysteriously missing from my wardrobe, and my comfortable boots were nowhere to be found. I smelled smoke and dropped the towel I’d been holding in a death grip, grimacing at the scorch marks left on it. I kicked it under the bed before crawling back under the covers, fighting tears of frustration.

Tamlin tried to speak to me that evening at dinner, implying with a half grin that he had missed my presence in his bed the night before, but I wouldn’t meet his gaze. I hummon noncommittally, ignoring the way his fingers twitched as he fought the emergence of his claws. Lucien made a valiant effort of changing the subject, but the rest of the meal was awkward and stilted. Ianthe tried numerous times to start a conversation with me, but I couldn’t muster any more than clipped, one word answers. The dark, acidic feeling in my chest had spread, sinking heavily into my stomach. I excused myself as soon as I could, having barely touched my food. Tamlin tried to grab my wrist but I maneuvered out of his grasp with a dexterity that earned me a suspicious glare.

I locked the door to my room that night.

Every morning Alis and several maids knocked on my door before I awoke, so I never had time to sneak in the exercises Cassian had taught me. They bathed and put me in the dresses Tamlin chose, my only footwear choices delicate heels or silk slippers. Everywhere I went I was accompanied by no less than two sentries, even when it was just to the dining room to pick at the meals placed before me.

The nightmares returned with a vengeance, but now I was alone every time I sprinted to the bathing chamber and heaved up my guts. Dark circles grew under my eyes as night after night sleep evaded me.

Tamlin finally cornered me one day when I was drifting aimlessly through the halls, staring at nothing in particular. I stared in numb shock as tears filled his eyes that were full of agony.

“Feyre. Please… talk to me.”

“About what?” I said, my tone flat. Dead,

“ _Anything_ . Please, just… just _look_ at me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry that I can’t—” his voice choked off with tears, and I blinked as they began to fall, coursing down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just want you to be safe, Feyre. I already lost you once…” 

I felt the icy hardness of my anger crack in my chest, and tears of my own gathered in my eyes. As horrific as dying had been for me, would I be any less of a wreck if it had been I who watched Tamlin die right before my eyes?

“I… I’m trying, Feyre. I really am. Please, give me another chance. I want you to be happy here. I love you,” he said, gathering my hands up in his. “I love you,” he whispered fervently. The last of my anger fizzled out, and I sniffed, nodding.

“I love you, too, Tamlin.”

That night he slipped into my room as I was brushing my hair, staring vacantly at my expression in the vanity. I blinked, whirling around in surprise. 

He offered me a smile that bordered on shyness, his gaze flickering down to the flimsy nightgown I wore. 

“Tamlin?” I asked, something flipping in my chest.

“I’ve been missing you,” he murmured, desire flaring in his emerald eyes.

I felt a blush steal over my cheeks as his fingers drifted to the buttons of his tunic, undoing them slowly as if he were asking my permission. As he let it fall to the ground, my eyes drifted over his muscled torso, and for a moment my vision blurred, and tattoos stretched over the planes of his chest, his skin a deeper, richer tan. I blinked and it was gone, and I swallowed, telling myself it was just nerves, and maybe more than a little guilt. My mind was just messed up from what had happened while I was in the Night Court, hell, what had happened Under the Mountain, too.

“Come here,” Tamlin growled, and I stood, determined to erase any thoughts of the other High Lord from my mind. Maybe… maybe Tamlin’s touch could burn the memories away. Would fix my body’s traitorous reactions.

Tamlin was across the room in three great strides, hauling me up into his arms. I gasped as he crushed his lips to mine, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me over to the bed. I let myself melt into the kiss, moaning as his teeth captured my lower lip between them.

He lowered me to the bed, and my eyes opened, locking on starry, amethyst ones.

“ _What?! "_ I gasped, freezing up, heart pounding wildly in my chest. Tamlin stared at me in confusion, his eyes very clearly their normal, brilliant emerald. 

“Feyre? Are you alright?” he asked, lust dimming into confusion and concern.

“I—I’m sorry,” I gasped, unable to even formulate an excuse. What was wrong with me?

“It’s okay, we can go slow,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips as he reached for me, and I let him. He pulled me in for another kiss, and I tried my best to relax into it. 

It was just my guilty mind playing tricks on me, I told myself as I closed my eyes, surrendering to Tamlin’s touch as he pushed up my nightgown, growling as he moved his mouth over me, devouring me like he was a male starved until I was moaning in pleasure.

When he finally entered me, I gasped, my back arching off the bed. My eyes rolled back into my head as he took me, thrusting harder and harder, murmuring my name and telling me he loved me. 

_There won’t be an inch of you I do not touch, do not possess—_

I flinched as the intrusive memory filtered through my mind, but Tamlin took it as a sign of my pleasure. He groaned, moving faster, pulling my knee up so it hooked over his shoulder. He moved his thumb to rub tight, fast circles on my clit, making me cry out.

“ _Yes_. Come for me, Feyre,” he growled.

 _Come for me, Feyre. I want to feel you come for me_.

My vision flickered, and it wasn’t Tamlin pounding into me anymore, it was Rhysand, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a savage grin as he fucked me. 

_Be a good girl, Feyre, and come on my cock_ , he purred, dark wings flaring out behind him.

I screamed as white hot lightning filled my veins, my release tearing through me. Tamlin gave a shout of pleasure as he found his own release, thrusting hard and deep in me one last time. I panted for breath, my muscles locked up in shock as I tried to come to terms with what just happened.

It had to have been my guilty mind playing cruel tricks on me, that was all. I checked my mental shields, but… they were completely intact. Just a cruel trick, nothing more. 

I should have never touched those damn wings.

We both groaned softly as Tamlin pulled out of me, and he collapsed to the side, chest heaving as he caught his breath. I swallowed around the knot in my throat, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over my arm.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I understand.”

Half lie, half truth. 

“You’re everything to me, Feyre,” he sighed, stroking his hand down my side to brush over my stomach. “I—I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I need to be sure they can’t get to you—can’t hurt you.”

 _Who is ‘they’?_ I wanted to ask, but I held my tongue.

“I understand,” I repeated, even though in my heart of hearts his overprotectiveness still angered me, still suffocated me. We could work past that, though, right? It was just because it was so new, only a month had passed, after all.

Tamlin leaned down, pressing a long kiss to my chest, right between my breasts.

“Marry me,” he breathed into my skin.

My heart stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONT HATE MEEEE


	15. A Modest Proposal

“What?” I choked out, my heart starting up again at an uneven, frantic pace.

“Marry me, Feyre,” Tamlin said, moving up to meet my gaze, his emerald eyes blazing with emotion. “Make me the happiest male in this world. Be by my side forever, as my wife.” 

“I—I…” I stammered, my mind utterly blank of a response.

I could see the excitement dimming in his eyes, turning to hurt as I remained silent, but I couldn’t breathe around the well of panic rising in my chest. 

Married.

_Wife._

But… he wasn’t my mate. 

Tamlin wasn’t my mate, and someday a female could come along and what, I would have to share him? 

I heard Amarantha’s sneering laugh as she broke my bones again, and again, and again.

_You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anything._

I heard the thunk of a knife hitting flesh over and over, the light in the Faeries’ eyes dying as I stole the life from them.

_You are unworthy._

_Unworthy._

A life full of lace and silk and soft pillows, tea and gossip and endless parties. A soft, easy nothingness with no payment for my sins. Never lifting a finger. Was I worthy of that?

I didn’t deserve a happy ending. I didn’t deserve an easy life. I had killed them. I deserved to pay. I deserved...

I tried desperately to pull breath into my lungs but my throat was closing up. White spots blinked across my vision, and tears pooled in my eyes, spilling over as my breath wheezed in my chest, growing more laboured by the second.

_Not my mate. Not my mate. Not my mate._

“Feyre?” Tamlin murmured, growing alarmed.

_Blood. There was so much blood._

_Murderer. Liar._

_Filth._

_Say you don’t love him! Amarantha shrieked._

_Crack, snap. Screams._

_I couldn’t breathe around the blood filling my lungs, couldn’t speak—_

The edges of my vision faded to black, and I could see Rhys’ soundless screaming, the tears coursing down his face as he tried to claw his way to me, I could see the thread tying us together that made my vision flicker back and forth between us as I lay dying.

 _Feyre?_ I heard Rhys’ panicked voice slam into my mind. My shields were wide open as blind panic rendered me helpless.

 _Help me!_ I sobbed. 

_I couldn’t breathe around the blood filling my lungs, couldn’t speak—couldn’t move. Walls closing in around me, the darkness of the cell, hot iron spikes lowering towards my head. Trapped, trapped—_

I felt him grab hold of something tight inside of me—deep inside of my mind, and I finally, blessedly lost consciousness. 

-

I awoke in the morning, bleary-eyed and confused, a dull pounding in my head. 

I was in my own bed at the Spring Court, but there was something wrong… 

“Feyre?”

I looked over and saw Lucien sitting beside my bed in a chair. He looked as awful as I felt, as if he’d been there the whole night and hadn’t slept a wink. 

“What are you doing here? What happened?” I rasped. My mouth felt as dry as cotton, and I winced.

Seeing my discomfort, he reached for a tray on the side table and handed me a delicate china cup full of steaming tea.

“You had some sort of panic fit last night and passed out,” he said bluntly, and I winced as the memory washed over me, taking a sip.

Shit. 

“Oh, Cauldron. Tamlin…” I put the cup down and dug my heels into my eyes. Lucien gave a soft sigh.

“Yeah…” he said awkwardly. I wanted to sink into a hole in the floor and die from shame.

“He just… he took me by surprise, I—” the words died in my mouth as the details of my panic attack flooded through me. “I can’t… it’s too soon,” I said, my voice cracking as tears threatened once again.

Lucien frowned, confused. “Too soon? What do you mean?”

“I… when he asked me, I just… I couldn’t stop thinking of those Fae I k-killed, and—” my breath hitched on a sob, and Lucien took my hand in his, squeezing gently. “How is it fair that I get a happy ending when they died? Why did I get to come back when they…” I clamped my lips shut as nausea roiled in me as the wet _crack_ of my neck snapping echoed in my mind. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks and I shuddered. I couldn’t tell Lucien I knew Tamlin wasn’t my mate, either. It would open the door to too many questions. I wasn’t ready for that conversation. I didn’t think I ever would be.

Wasn’t all this just borrowed time, anyways?

“Feyre…” Lucien began, but his words cut off as there was a soft knock at my door, and Tamlin stepped inside.

Anxiety flipped wildly in my chest, but I made myself meet his gaze. It was the least I could do when I’d no doubt humiliated him with my behaviour last night.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, stepping to my bedside. Lucien dropped my hand and stood, offering Tamlin the chair, which he took with a subtle nod of thanks. He made for the door, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t beg him to stay.

“Okay,” I lied, rubbing the tears off my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Tamlin,” I whispered, my cheeks growing hot with shame.

“It’s alright, Feyre. I know I sprung it on you, and I do hope you’ll consider it, but I don’t want to push you,” Tamlin said with a kind smile. I pushed down the anxiety flipping in my chest, and gave a vague nod. 

“I just…” I swallowed heavily, nerves fluttering in my chest. “I think I just need some time… to—to recover, I mean,” I said lamely. It was the best excuse I could come up with for my reluctance. 

Should I just say yes? I wondered. Shouldn’t I try to be happy, even if I didn’t deserve it?

“Of course,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face before leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to my brow. My heart melted at the gentle touch. This was the Tamlin I remembered, the one I’d missed for so long. 

Lucien knocked politely on the door jamb. “Tamlin, Hart just arrived. We should head out soon,” he said, sending me an apologetic smile.

“You’re leaving?” I asked, my heart sinking. I’d only just returned and he was going away?

“There’s some issues on the border we have to deal with, but we’ll return shortly as we need to be here for the Tithe.”

I stiffened, recalling a conversation I’d had with Lucien weeks ago. “You’re still calling in the Tithe? The people have barely recovered…” I began, but Tamlin held up his hand, stopping the flow of words. 

“Ianthe has been reaching out to the surrounding villages, she says they’re ready. We need to move on from the darkness and start planning for our future,” he said, standing with fluid grace. “We’ll return by the end of the week.” He bent down to press a kiss to my forehead. “Think on my proposal,” he whispered with a quick grin, then strode from the room before I could even open my mouth to say goodbye. Lucien offered me a tight smile, before turning on his heel and following.

I stared at where they had disappeared for several long minutes, feeling something ugly and dark begin to twist in my chest. No word on where they were going, or what they were doing. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to ask to come with them. Not that Tamlin would have ever allowed it. My opinion hadn’t mattered at all.

Was this to be my life now? Sitting at home waiting and wondering, doing nothing with my days but choose fabric for dresses and wishing for Tamlin to return to break up the monotony? 

The angry, dark thing in my chest solidified as I heard the horse hooves clatter down the road, fading quickly into the distance. I threw off the covers in a flurry of movement, and I was halfway to my wardrobe when I remembered they had taken all of my useful, comfortable clothes. 

Seething, I pulled on a thick robe, and marched straight to Lucien’s room. 

I’d never been inside the male’s room, but I barely paid attention to the Autumn Court russets and oranges as I went straight to his wardrobe against the wall. Tamlin was a good half head taller than him, so his clothes would be my best bet. I rifled through his clothing, picking out what I thought might have a chance to fit me best. 

I found a dagger in a side table and poked a new hole through one of his belts, cinching it tight around my waist. I rolled the cuffs of the breeches up and tugged on a shirt, my hands trembling with ire. 

I strapped the dagger to my hip, feeling a sense of rightness as I did. I marched downstairs barefoot, ignoring the servants who gawked as I strode past. 

“Alis?” I called, heading to the kitchens. I balked as I neared the door, seeing how low and tight the walls were, how small the windows seemed.

“My lady?” she poked her head out from behind a cupboard, eyes widening as she took in my state of dress.

“Where are my boots?” I asked, putting as much determination into my voice as I could.

“Lord Tamlin said—”

“ _Where_. _Are_. _My_. _Boots?_ ”

The entire kitchen had fallen silent, Faeries of all shapes and sizes staring at me in shock

Alis brushed flour from her hands onto her apron and bustled to my side.

“My lady… he forbade me,” she whispered, real fear kindling in her eyes.

“I gathered that, but if you don’t tell me where they are right now I will simply go barefoot. Perhaps, if you just so happened to be discussing with another maid what you were going to do with them and I happened to overhear…?” I hinted heavily, my tone leaving no room for argument. If Tamlin wanted me to agree to being his wife so badly, he could start by acknowledging my authority here.

I watched the fear melt and turn into resolve in her eyes. _There_ was the Fae that had outfitted me for war and sent me to the Mountain to save her people.

“In the servant’s quarters, fourth cupboard down the hall,” she breathed, too low for any of the gawking Fae to hear, then shooed me as if she had denied my request and was sending me on my way. 

I snuck into the servants quarters, locating them quickly. I grinned with wicked satisfaction, and pulled them on. No more fucking slippers.

I strode out to the gardens, shoulders thrown back and head held high. The sentries watched, their expressions ranging from uneasiness to fear, but none dared to stop me. 

I grabbed a rake by one of the garden sheds, and twisted off the head. It was lighter than my usual sparring sticks, but it would have to do. 

I headed to a clearing in full view of the house and slid into my training stance. My heart was pounding from the thrill of my rebellion, so I pulled in several deep breaths into my lungs, willing it to calm, willing the nervous energy fluttering through my limbs to settle.

I glanced at the sentries who were staring at me, now in curiosity, and I began. 

I moved through the sets of exercises Cassian had shown me, then to the movements with the sparring stick. My footwork was clumsy as I tried to remember the exact ways to do it, but after a while I remembered the flow, trying to recall Cassian’s corrections for the common mistakes I made.

My skin was gleaming with sweat by the end of the hour, my muscles aching and burning pleasantly. I felt lightheaded from having not eaten much the past few days, but my mind was clearer, less anxious. I put the rake handle back in the shed, and headed to the house, feet dragging. 

As I passed by, I could have sworn one of the sentries at the door shot me a wink. 

I was passing by the library on my way up to my room when the sight of books through the door caught my eye. I had promised Mor I would practice, and she’d even asked me to write to her.

The last of the heaviness in my chest dissipated as I headed to one of the writing desks, not caring that I was sweaty and smelled less than wonderful. By the time the letter got to the Night Court it wouldn’t smell like anything. Probably.

I picked out a fountain pen and a sheet of paper and made myself comfortable. I wrote slowly, biting my tongue in concentration. 

_Hello Mor,_

_I hope_ ~~_everething_ ~~ _everything is well in the Night Court._

_I was finally able to train today, so that should make Cassian happy._

I bit my lip, wondering if I should mention Rhys at all, or ask after him. 

The memory of what occurred last night drifted up, and I grimaced.

_I hope Rhys is not bothering you_ ~~_two_ ~~ _too much._

I smirked. I could perfectly imagine his scowl while he read that line over Mor’s shoulder. 

_Could you_ ~~_ryte_ _rite_~~ _write me some words I should learn and what they mean? I am going to pick a book out to read_ ~~_hear_ ~~ _here, and I will send you the words I do not know._

_I hope my writing is not too terrible._

I frowned down at the paper. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I carefully signed my name at the bottom, and once the ink dried I folded it, feeling a thrill of pride run through me. The first ever letter I’d written all on my own! I rummaged around until I found wax and a stamp, and sealed the letter, holding it out to admire for a moment.

Something occurred to me then, and my smile vanished. How on earth was I supposed to address it? Did the Fae have addresses like the humans did? Should I just write ‘Night Court’? Or ‘Morrigan’? I didn’t even know her surname, I realized. 

I bit my lip, glancing at the door of the library. Maybe Alis or one of the staff would know. 

I tapped the letter against my hand idly as I left the room, heading down the hall towards the kitchens to find someone I could ask about it.

“Lady Feyre!”

I stifled an eye roll as I heard Ianthe call my name from down the hall. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned to greet her.

“Hello Ianthe.”

“Mother’s blessings upon you today,” she said reverently, dipping a low curtsey to me. I shifted on my feet uncomfortably, painfully aware of how sweaty and strange I looked dressed in Lucien’s clothes. Her eyes zeroed in on the sealed letter I held in my hand. “Oh! I had not realized… I apologize, but Lord Tamlin mentioned that you could neither read nor write.”

I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment, but I kept my chin high. “I’ve been learning.”

“That is so wonderful, my lady! And goodness, please forgive me, I should have offered you my congratulations first thing,” she beamed, and I frowned at her in confusion. “Well as the wife of the High Lord you will have much occasion to write many letters to manage the household and correspond with the various towns and villages. I am so pleased you’re taking such initiative for your future role,” she effused. I froze, my stomach giving an anxious flip.

“What… what do you mean?”

Ianthe blinked at me, her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m—I am so sorry, my lady, I had heard that Lord Tamlin proposed…”

“I have not given my answer yet,” I said stiffly, my cheeks flaming hotter. Cauldron, did the entire Court think…?

Ianthe bowed her head, the hood of her robe slipping over her eyes, and for a moment it created an eerie, Otherworldly effect. “My mistake, my lady. I spoke out of turn. I could not contain my joy when I heard and leaped to conclusions. I hope you will forgive me.”

I felt sick to my stomach, casting desperately around in my mind for a change of subject. I didn’t want to talk about Tamlin’s proposal. I had just managed to put it far from my mind.

I remembered the letter in my hand, then, and I jumped at the opportunity.

“Speaking of writing, I am still… er, very new to it. Do you know how to address a letter to a different Court?” I asked. Ianthe’s eyes brightened, eager to help. Distantly I wondered if she ever tired of constantly bowing and scraping the way she did.

“Of course, my lady. You need only write the person’s name, Court, and place of residence if known.”

I frowned, tapping the letter against my lip thoughtfully. I didn’t actually know where Mor lived, as I’d only ever seen her at the House of Stars. From what she and Rhys had implied, as well as Tamlin and Lucien’s reactions when I told them of the House, not many Fae from other Courts knew of its existence, so I didn’t think that was a good location to address it to.

“Very well. Thank you for your assistance,” I said, giving her a small nod. Ianthe beamed, as if I had given her the greatest gift imaginable.

“It is my pleasure to assist my lady however I can. I am here to serve,” she said, curtseying again. I resisted the impolite urge to gag.

“Right... Er, who should I give my letter to once it’s addressed?” I asked, turning to head back to the library, Ianthe drifting after me like a shadow.

“Oh, you can give it to me, my lady! I know just the messengers that will carry it the fastest, you needn’t worry yourself of such trivial things,” she insisted, and I nodded vaguely, chewing the inside of my cheek. Perhaps if I let her help me with this she would stop hounding after me to let her ‘serve’ me.

I made sure to write Mor’s name perfectly legibly, and ‘The Night Court’ just below it. I frowned, cocking my head to the side. It seemed terribly informal, but if Ianthe said so…

“Alright, here you go,” I said, handing it to her once it had dried. “And… thank you again,” I added awkwardly.

She glanced down at the letter, noting the addressee with the barest thinning of her lips.

“Of course, my lady. It is my pleasure.” She curtseyed again, and bustled from the room.

Once I had cleaned up from training and ate, I headed back to the library to hunt down a good book to read. I felt better than I had in days, and even stood up and headed to the dining room early for dinner since my stomach was growling. I had a long list of words written down to ask Mor what they meant and how to say them. I wasn’t sure how long mail took in Prythian, so I would have to ask Ianthe when she thought I could expect a response. 

The days passed quickly as I fell into my new routine of training in the morning, and reading and writing in the afternoons. I stayed far away from the paint studio, though every so often I found myself tracing the lines of the mountains I had seen in my mind’s eye, wondering how I might capture the crags and shadows. I missed Cassian’s cheerful banter and Mor’s clever wit, but I was glad for the steadiness and calm the routine brought to my life, even if I was alone.

I did everything in my power to avoid Ianthe, but she was like my own personal shadow, finding me tucked into every nook and cranny of the house with a book no matter how private or removed. I took to hiding sheafs of paper in my room so I could write uninterrupted in the evenings without her pestering me with questions. She had taken to hinting heavily at how eager she was to hear my answer to Tamlin’s proposal, and wondered if I might be making wedding plans, but I kept my lips firmly shut on that front. There was nothing to discuss, anyways.

On the fourth morning, I was about to pick up my rake handle sparring stick when I noticed something I’d never seen before. 

Leaning against the side of the shed, next to the rake, was an actual wooden sword.

I glanced back at the guards who for once were looking everywhere but me, and pressed my lips together to hide my smile. I picked it up casually, and began to move through my exercises, my heart pounding with excitement. The hour passed quickly, and my arms burned even more with the weight of the sparring sword, but it was a welcome discomfort. I felt strong. I felt capable.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

I froze mid swing as the dark fury in Tamlin’s voice reached me, my heart plummeting into my stomach.

Whirling around, I barely had time to blink before the wooden sword was ripped from my hands and snapped like a twig in his clawed fist. Lucien looked on from near the door, lips pressed tightly together, but he made no move to intervene. 

“I was just—” I began, but he cut me off with a snarl that reverberated deep in my chest.

“We spoke of this, Feyre. I had _one_ request of you. Just one. And you deliberately disobeyed me. You deceived me, and made a mockery of me in front of my Court,” he growled, his voice guttural as he towered over me. Suddenly the image of the debtors who had barged into our home and smashed my father’s leg to pieces flashed through my mind.

“I just wanted to exercise! It wasn’t even a real sword for Cauldron’s sake, who could I possibly be sending an image to out here?” I cried, throwing up my hands. “I even stayed in view of the house, which is more than I even owe—”

“ _More than you owe?!_ ” Tamlin gripped my upper arm tightly, jerking me towards him. “More than you owe? You owe me more than being safe and protecting yourself after I already lost you once? Is that it, Feyre? Has Rhysand really poisoned your mind so much after just a week? Or perhaps it was your new friend the Morrigan,” he sneered, and held up a familiar piece of paper. My letter.

I stared at it in shock. Ianthe had lied to me. She had turned tail and went right to Tamlin, spilling every secret.

“That was private,” I hissed, my breathing growing unsteady as anger spooled, hot and acidic in my stomach. “How dare you read that. You had no right.”

“I have every right, Feyre. I’m the High Lord. It’s not private when you could be putting my Court, _our_ Court at risk, Feyre. How can you not see that?” He tore the letter up into small pieces, each rip sending a stab of pain through my chest before he let them flutter to the ground.

“That is ridiculous. There was nothing in there about us! Or the Court! She’s helping me learn to read and write,” I said, my nails digging painful crescents into my palms. “I shouldn’t have to ask permission to go outside, or to exercise, or to write to whomever I want. These restrictions are insane, Tamlin.”

“They only seem insane to you because you can’t comprehend the risk, Feyre,” he growled, gripping both of my shoulders now and shaking me slightly, as if to will some sense into me.

“Why can’t I write to her?” I demanded, my eyes prickled with tears of fury as I tried to writhe out of his hold but his grip was like stone. “What could possibly be the risk in that?”

“Because, Feyre, they’re trying to trick you! They want you to spill the secrets of my Court, not be friends with you. All they want is to win you over, to deceive you.”

“Mor isn’t like that,” I insisted, trying and failing again to push out of his grasp. “She just wants to help me practice. She’s my friend!”

“Cauldron, Feyre, do you even hear yourself? They’ve already poisoned your mind,” Tamlin snarled, shaking me again.

“Let go of me, Tamlin,” I bit out. “You’re hurting me.”

“We’re going to find a way to break this cursed bargain. I won’t let their evil, their wickedness taint you,” he snarled, and I felt the pinpricks of his claws as they unsheathed. 

“You sound completely out of your mind, you realize that, right? There is nothing evil about Mor,” I yelled, shoving him one last time.

Tamlin grunted as he staggered back several steps, the same time I hissed in pain as his claws raked along my skin, drawing blood. I smelled smoke, and stared, wide-eyed at the two charred handprints on his tunic.

I had burned him. 

I stared in shock and horror at what I’d unwittingly done, backing away slowly. 

“I—I’m so sorry…” I spluttered. His blistered skin was already healing, but nausea still cramped my stomach at the sight. I had hurt him with my powers. Even if we had been arguing, I hadn’t meant to…

“It’s okay, Feyre. We’re going to figure this out,” he said, holding his hands out to me as if offering me a lifeline. “I’m not going to let them do this to you. We can get through this. Together.”

Them? Do what to me? _I_ had done this. I had burned him _because_ I didn’t know how to control my powers.

It felt as though a blanket was smothering my senses, muting all sound, taste, and feeling as Tamlin ushered me into the house. We passed Lucien, who was watching me with a mixture of pity and wary concern. His gaze flickered down to my clothes, frowning as he saw whose they were. Hysteria bubbled up in my chest, and I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh and sob all at once. The cautious peace I had attained in the last few days had utterly shattered, my equilibrium gone. I could hear them whispering about what they were going to do, how they were going to keep my powers hidden, how to keep me from putting myself at ‘risk’. 

I locked my bedroom door as soon as it swung shut and slumped against it, sliding to the ground. Pain throbbed in my shoulders from the claw marks that were already healing. 

The vast emptiness of my now un-ending existence yawned open before me.

I let it swallow me whole.

-

The days leading up to the Tithe were a numb vagueness I did not care to remember. Every night I woke in a cold sweat, and staggered to the bathing chamber to hurl my guts up. Sometimes I awoke paralyzed, unable to move or speak for a few moments before I managed to lean over the edge of the bed and vomit in the bin I now kept at my bedside.

The only time I felt any sort of emotion was when I was drifting past the study one night like a wraith, the voices of Tamlin, Lucien, and Ianthe arguing in heated whispers reaching my ears.

“There is too much risk to her, it needs to be suppressed. _Now_ ,” Ianthe was hissing.

“You can’t suppress her powers, they’re a part of her. It needs to be controlled, trained—” Lucien pushed back, but he was cut off by a low growl.

“ _No_ training _._ What about that can you not understand? I will not have the Lords of Prythian descending upon her like wolves on a flock,” Tamlin bit out. I could hear his claws digging into the wood of his desk.

“There is another way…” Ianthe murmured, and a tense silence drew out between the three.

“No. Absolutely not,” Lucien snarled. “We may as well slit her throat, it would be the same as killing her.”

“Don’t be foolish, Lucien, Faebane is not a death sentence—”

“Would it harm her?” Tamlin asked in a low voice. 

“ _Yes—_ ”

“No.” Ianthe spoke over Lucien, emphatic.

“It’s _poison_. Tamlin, you cannot seriously be considering this,” Lucien begged. The strained silence drew out once more, and I felt anxiety flip in my chest. Poison me? They were going to poison me?

“In small doses, perhaps…” Tamlin began slowly, and I heard a loud thud, as if someone had struck the wall with their fist. Lucien.

I had heard enough.

I turned on silent feet, little more than a whisper of shadow as I drifted back to my room. I glanced down, realizing my body was indeed blending into the darkness of the hall. I thought of the way Cerridwen and Nuala had spirited me through the halls unseen Under the Mountain, but I couldn’t summon enough energy to care.

I couldn’t feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooOOOOOOOOOO *excited squeal*
> 
> I ended here because I haven't figured out if I want to rewrite the Tithe scene or not. probably not, tbh. i find it so hard to write the Spring Court cause all i wanna do is write about Rhysand so you'll forgive me if the story skips certain stuff! 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed! x


	16. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before you read this you have to promise not to arrive at my house with pitchforks :D
> 
> okay? promise? promiseeee?
> 
> Also: this is the song I always think of when I remember the music Rhys sent to Feyre in her cell https://open.spotify.com/track/6QuCKdMsTW8ppnUiFmxJLF?si=EtwPUYWPS52zrEI3WNu_AQ

I sat down at the dinner table, ignoring Tamlin and Lucien’s stares. The silence was fraught with tension undoubtedly from the disaster that had been the Tithe, but I paid no heed, pushing the food around my plate as if I was going to eat it. I had stopped eating the meals brought up to my room since the conversation I’d overheard. I had taken to stealing food from the servant’s pantry at night when I was too hungry to ignore the all-too familiar gnawing pains in my stomach. It wasn’t that difficult after a day or so. 

I’d been hungrier before. 

Now I drank only from the water I used to fill up my bath, figuring they wouldn’t go through all the effort to poison that source, and I never touched the wine set before me at dinner. I was careful to never glance in Ianthe’s direction in case she suspected that I knew something.

After ten minutes of tense silence, Tamlin finally spoke. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Do what?” I asked, my voice dull, bored. 

“You know what.”

I just stared at him blankly. 

“You gave that water wraith your jewelry. Jewelry I gifted to you,” he gritted out between his teeth.

“So? This entire damned house is full of jewels,” I shrugged.

Lucien sucked in a breath at the sharpness in my words. Good. He should be afraid.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Tamlin growled, stiffening.

“Why?” I turned to look him straight in the eye. “I never even wear the same jewels twice. I have no need for them. Who even cares about any of it?” For the first time in days I felt the stirring of something in my chest.

Anger. I was angry. 

Tamlin’s eyes narrowed. “Because when you behave like this it undermines the Court. It undermines me. This is the way things are done here, have been done here for centuries, and when you gave that gluttonous lesser Fae money she needs, you made this entire Court look weak. You made me look weak.”

“ _I_ made you look weak?” I huffed a short, humourless laugh. “Having mercy on the poor, the starving—something, might I remind you, I have intimate knowledge of being, is _weakness?_ ” I snarled, my fingers curled around the knife beside my plate. A butter knife, albeit. I was back to not being allowed anything sharp within my reach, like when I had been a scared mortal girl. I saw Lucien’s gaze flicker to my hand out of the corner of my eye. “You have _no_ idea what it was like to be weak, and starving for months on end. You have _no_ right to tell me which alms I may choose to give out. You call her a glutton, but I have sisters too, lest you forget. _I_ remember what it was like coming home empty handed to their pain, their hunger, their despair, so don’t you _dare_ tell me that what I did was wrong. I don’t care how weak you think it makes you or this damned Court look.”

My chest was heaving with my ire, my power undulating against my bones like a caged wolf, ready to be set loose. I tried to calm myself, fisting my hands to hide my trembling fingers. I didn’t glance down at the butter knife I had dropped on the table. Didn’t want to acknowledge the handle now crusted with hoarfrost. 

“She meant no harm, Tamlin—” Lucien began, but started when Tamlin snarled, slamming his clawed fist down on the table. 

“That’s not the point,” he snapped, baring his teeth.

“It could have been worse, Tam. We should just let it go, and move on. Relax,” Lucien insisted, raising his chin. My heart squeezed at his defense of me.

Tamlin whirled around to glare at Lucien, his emerald eyes almost feral with rage. “Did I ask you your opinion?”

Something cracked in my chest at those words, the way Lucien lowered his head—rage burned through my veins like a river of fire. _Don’t let him speak to you that way,_ I wanted to yell, gripping the table so tightly my knuckles were white. _Look up. Fight back. We’re right and he’s wrong._ A muscle twitched in Lucien’s jaw, and I felt that power thrumming in me reach across towards him. _Don’t back down—_

My vision fractured as it had Under the Mountain when I was dying, and I was seeing myself from across the room. A deluge of thoughts swarmed over me, flashes of memories, a pattern of thinking that was old and clever, but so endlessly, endlessly sad, guilt-ridden, hopeless…

I wrenched myself back, slamming my mental shields up. 

I gaped at Lucien slightly, frozen in shock. Barely a heartbeat had passed. I had… I had...

I had been inside of his mind. I had done exactly what Rhys could do.

I shoved away from the table, throwing my napkin down on my untouched plate, shaken by what had just occurred. 

“Where are you going? This meal isn’t finished,” Tamlin turned his glare back to me.

“Oh, get over yourself,” I snapped frostily, and stormed out of the room, but not before I saw the burnt handprints I’d left on the table, the tablecloth singed beyond repair. 

  
  


I ended up in the library that night curled up on the cushioned bench of the bay window, staring vacantly out at the night, my chin resting on my knees. A book sat next to me, untouched. I’d had every intention of reading until I was tired enough to sleep, but I was too lost in my thoughts, wondering what it meant that I had stepped so easily into Lucien’s mind, like moving from room to room. Thankfully he seemed as of yet unaware of the violation.

I needed to tell Rhys as soon as possible, that much I knew, but I couldn’t find the energy to reach inside and tug on the bond. A part of me didn’t want him to be privy to my mind at the moment, the dark, gloomy thoughts swirling around in it, but... was it too dangerous to wait until it was time to leave for the Night Court again? He’d said all it would take to shatter someone’s mind was half a thought, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that power existing unchecked, untrained inside of me for longer than absolutely necessary.

I heard Tamlin before I scented him enter the library, and I tried not to tense as he approached.

“You should be asleep,” he said softly, and I glanced back at him, my lips twitching in the attempt of a smile, but it fell flat. 

“So should you,” I answered quietly, looking down at my bare toes that peeked out of the edge of my pale green dress. Tamlin brought something out from behind his back, and I raised a brow. “What’s that?”

“A gift. For you, from me,” he said with a sheepish smile that made him appear almost boyish. “An apology, as well.”

I blinked in surprise, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. Not to you or Lucien, my two closest confidants in this world,” he said, placing the box before me and gathering up my hands in his. My fingers felt frozen in his warm touch. “I didn’t mean any of it,” he breathed, pressing his lips to my skin. 

I nodded, trying to unlock my tense muscles. “I understand,” I said, tasting the lie as I spoke. I didn’t. Not truly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“You had every right,” he said, shaking his head. “I have no idea what it’s like to go hungry, to be unable to provide for my family. How can I fault you for your empathy? You did what anyone with a good heart would do.”

My jaw clenched. Someone with a good heart wouldn’t stab innocents just to save themselves. I gently extricated my fingers from his, and pulled the box into my lap. Tugging at the ribbon, I examined the wooden box underneath wondering what it could possibly be. Too crude to be dress box, too large to be more jewelry… 

_Please not a crown_ , I thought suddenly, anxiety flipping in my stomach. Was he going to propose a second time? Oh, gods, I wasn’t ready…

I unlatched the brass lock, and pulled open the lid.

It was worse than a crown.

The box was filled with built-in sleeves and compartments to hold all sorts of paint, charcoal, paintbrushes, and paper. A traveling painting kit. 

The red vial of paint stood out like a sore thumb. It looked like blood.

“I thought you would like to have something easier to bring to the grounds with you rather than lugging all those bags like you usually do,” he said with an eager smile. 

I looked down at the box again, feeling like I was somewhere outside of my body.

“Will I even be allowed to leave the manor to paint? Or will there be an escort then, too?” 

I regretted the words as soon as I’d said them, the silence stretching between us long and uncomfortable.

It was answer enough.

My heart thudded heavily in my throat, and my fingers trembled as I gently closed the lid, forcing myself to meet his gaze. 

“Tamlin… I—I can’t live like this. I can’t spend the rest of my days under lock and key, always being watched, always surrounded by guards day and night. I can’t live being… being suffocated. I need you to trust me, or at least let me work _with_ you.” My voice shook as I spoke, but it was a relief to say it, to lay my truth out on the table.

He shook his head. “You’ve sacrificed enough, Feyre.”

“I know, Tamlin, but I’m going to live for a very long time now. I need something more to do, to be…” I turned to meet his burning emerald gaze. “I need to have a purpose that extends beyond pretty dresses and parties. I’m stronger and faster now, I’m much harder to kill—”

“Being strong and fast wasn’t enough for my family. They were still slaughtered.”

“Then ask someone who can live with this sort of existence to marry you, Tamlin,” I choked out. _Ask your mate when you find her one day_ , I wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

Tamlin stared at me as if I had plunged another ash knife into his chest. “Do you… you do not want to marry me, then?”

I flinched at the ragged sadness in every word. “I…” My voice broke. “I’m drowning, Tamlin. The more you keep me locked inside, taking my clothes—my _shoes_ away, the guards… it’s just pushing me further and further under the water.”

Barely half a moment passed before the tiny hairs on my arms rose, the air growing charged like the breath before a thunderstorm.

Instinct took over, and I screamed in terror as his power blasted through the room. The window beside me shattered, furniture splintering and cracking like snaps of lightning.

From stillness to chaos in one breath, the corner of the library was now completely destroyed. 

Yet… none of it had touched me. 

I sat pressed against the wall, arms shielding my face as my breaths came in shuddering gasps. I was trembling uncontrollably, trying to make sense of how I was still in once piece. 

I felt a concerned tug on the bond, and I immediately slammed my mental shields up. I didn’t want Rhys to see this, to see me. It was too much. Too much to handle. 

Tamlin was panting in ragged sobs, and I forced myself to lower my arms, though they moved slowly, reluctantly, as if unwilling to leave me vulnerable. I felt the gentle glide of claws recede from my mental shields just as reluctantly, and it took everything inside of me not to reach out for that comforting, concerned touch, to beg it to come back.

I looked around me, confused by the circle of untouched wall and floor surrounding me. There was no debris within a five foot radius of where I lay huddled against the wall. 

Tamlin took a step towards me, his face full of devastation and grief, but he recoiled as if he’d hit something solid.

“Feyre?” he whispered, trying and failing again to step past the demarcation line. I watched with a detached shock and curiosity. A shield. I had made a shield even he could not pass through.

“Feyre, please,” Tamlin rasped, pressing his hands against what seemed to be a solid, curved wall of air. I had no idea what Court this power came from, but I couldn't bring myself to care in the moment. “Feyre, please… please.” Tamlin’s breath hitched. The sound apparently jarred me enough to break the shield, as his hands suddenly fell through, making him lose his balance.

He rushed to me, falling to his knees as he gathered me up in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” he whispered over and over, rocking me side to side. 

I realized I was still shaking, my heart pounding wildly in my ribcage.

“I’ll—I’ll try to be better, I just… today was—it was bad. I can’t control it, all the time… the—the anger. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget today, let’s move past it… please,” he murmured into my skin fervently, as if willing it to happen.

I wondered idly if I hadn’t had any powers, or shielded myself in time, if I would have survived a blast like that.

“I’ll try to be better,” he repeated, pulling back to take my face in his hands. It took every last ounce of self control not to flinch. “I just… I need more time. Let me—let me get through this. Please?”

I didn’t ask what ‘this’ was, and I realized he was waiting for my answer. Waiting for me to say anything at all.

“Okay,” I whispered, standing slowly on wobbly legs. Tamlin followed, watching me like he was afraid I would disappear if he looked away for even a moment. The case of paints lay broken on the floor, and I saw that the red vial had broken, oozing across the floor like a pool of blood. “I’m going to sleep,” I finally said after a long moment, and picked my way across the debris scattered across the floor without a backward glance. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I went. 

I quietly slid the lock home when I got back to my room, leaning my back against the wood as I stared vacantly at nothing.

Another touch brushed against my mind, this time the sensation of a solid, warm hand pressing against my mental shield.

 _I am here,_ it seemed to say. _I am with you._

In my mind, I slowly, gently placed a mental hand on the other side of the shield where the calming touch remained. He tugged again on the bond, a gentle question.

_Are you alright?_

I opened up the tiniest sliver of my shield, enough to say:

_Yes._

The barest hint of relief mixed with concern hit me, and he slowly retreated, respecting my privacy. I could still feel him there, hovering just outside the edge of my consciousness, a comforting presence.

I remembered the music he’d sent me in my cell so long ago, and opened my shields a fraction wider.

_Feyre?_

I thought of the beginning few strains of the song, trying my best to remember exactly how it had went. I closed my eyes as he responded, the notes full of beauty and goodness flooding through me once more, lifting me up on gossamer dark wings into a night sky spinning with bright stars. Tears welled and spilled down my cheeks in hot rivulets as I let myself be swept away. 

The music built and crescendoed to that great ascent, wheeling me above the city of starlight into a palace of alabaster and moonstone, surrounded by dark, snowy mountains crowned with a band of stars so thick it looked like sapphires, diamonds, and milk spilt across the sky with an artist’s mad brush stroke. Triumphant joy and sorrow, passion and anger, the burning will of defiance, the music was all and more. I let it wash over me, let it spear into the darkest depths of my ravaged heart, and I wept.

The next day when I left the house, I noticed there were fewer guards stationed on the grounds, but I didn’t dare try to train again after what had happened last time. The days passed in a blur, with Tamlin and Lucien away more often than not. They didn’t tell me what they were doing, or where they went, and I had long since given up on asking. 

I spent my time holed up in the library, reading books and raising and lowering my mental shields. I was careful to only use my powers alone in my room, heating and cooling my bathwater, trying to summon another shield of wind. I even began working on manipulating darkness and shadows. One evening I had been in the middle of practicing when Alis bustled into my room, moving about as if she had no idea I was in there. A glance down at my body showed I had completely blended into the shadows near the wall, so I watched in distant amazement as I remained completely undetected by her. 

Some mornings I shielded my entire room with a hard wall of air, savouring the silence, the privacy. I began to get out of bed later and later, sometimes not emerging from my room until noon. It was better than feeling the watchful eyes of the servants, or dealing with the endless simpering of the courtiers. Some days, I didn’t speak to anyone at all.

One morning I awoke late to the sound of deep, tense voices in the hallway outside my door. I contemplating raising the shield to block them out, but curiosity got the best of me.

“Get out,” Tamlin was snarling, and my heart flipped at the familiar, quiet response too low for me to make out. Was it time already?

I sprung out of bed in a flurry of activity, swaying on my feet briefly as black spots danced across my vision, before rushing to the bathing room to freshen up and pull on the Night Court clothes I had stashed away.

“I’ll say it one more time, you will not—” 

I opened the door, cutting off whatever Tamlin had been about to say. They both turned to look at me, and the smirk that had been on Rhys’ face faltered.

“Feyre, are you alright?” His eyes swept over me in alarm, taking in every detail. “Are you sick?”

“What?” Tamlin growled, the claws unsheathing from his knuckles.

“Come on,” Rhys murmured, extending his hand to me. “Let’s go.”

Tamlin pushed in between us, pressing me back with an extended arm. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Rhys sighed, his gaze flickering over Tamlin with cold disdain. “Are we really going to do this every month?” 

I took a deep, steadying breath. “Can you give us a minute?” I asked Rhys quietly. He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said, then sauntered away with casual, unhurried steps.

I stepped back into my room, closing the door softly once Tamlin followed. A deep, rumbling growl tore from his chest as he sat heavily on the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.

“When did he get here?” I asked, chewing my lip.

“He winnowed into the foyer ten minutes ago,” Tamlin said, clearly still seething. My eyes widened.

“How did he get through the wards?”

Tamlin rubbed his forehead with his hand in frustration. “I don’t know.” I tensed as I heard the undercurrent of the lie in his voice. “It’s all a part of the games he’s playing, I'm sure.”

“If war is coming, perhaps we ought to make amends instead of fighting,” I said as gently as I could, trying my best not to wince as I brought up the volatile topic. The last time we’d spoken of it it had gone very poorly.

“I’ll make amends the day he releases you from this horrible bargain,” Tamlin snapped.

I stifled a sigh, grabbing the comb from my vanity so I could tug it through the tangled knots in my hair. I was too tired to argue. I never woke up this early anymore.

“All I’m saying is sometimes it’s worth it to swallow our pride and listen to those we disagree with. Cauldron only knows how many times I had to swallow my pride arguing with Nesta,” I grimaced, thinking of my proud, frosty sister. “He’s clearly worried about Hybern, and I feel like Rhys isn’t the type of male to worry over nothing.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin began, reaching a hand towards me beseechingly. “Why do you need to trouble yourself with these things? Haven’t you earned the right to recover in peace? I relaxed the number of sentries, I’m—I’m trying, I really am. I don’t want you to have to deal with this burden.” He sighed, carding his fingers through his hair roughly. “This isn’t the right time for this.”

 _It’s never the right time_ , I wanted to snap, but I held my tongue against the sharp retort. 

“I have to go,” I said softly, turning to the door. Tamlin followed close on my heels, anxiety blooming across his features.

Rhys was waiting for me on the landing, as if he hadn’t wanted to go too far. He extended his hand silently, but Tamlin was there in an instant, shoving it down.

“If you end this bargain right now, I will give you anything you want.”

Fear seized my stomach with icy claws. “Tamlin, are you insane?” I hissed, grabbing his elbow, but he shook me off.

Rhys smirked, shaking his head. “As tempting as that is, it just so happens that I have everything I want.” He strode around Tamlin as casual as could be, and drew me into his arms. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye before darkness swept over us, and we were gone.

White-capped mountains and sweeping blue skies filled my vision as we appeared on the veranda of the House of Stars.

“Feyre, what on earth happened to you?” Rhys said, his hands gripping my shoulders gently. I met his gaze and shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” I mumbled.

“I could look inside of your head, if that’s what you'd prefer, though you might not like if I have access,” he prodded with a mischievous smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

I shrugged again. “If you like.”

“What, no trying to hit me this time? No ‘fuck off, Rhys’?” he raised a brow, egging me on to play with him, to banter like we had before.

I couldn’t summon enough energy to care. All I wanted was to go back to bed. 

“I’m going to sleep,” I said, stepping away. I was surprised when he let me go.

“Eat breakfast with me?” he blurted out, and I paused, half-turned away. The clothes shifted loosely on me, and I realized then just how much weight I had lost. 

I was hungry, though. I hadn’t eaten yet, and Rhysand’s food wouldn’t be poisoned. Ianthe was nowhere near. 

“Okay,” I nodded, and he gestured for me to lead the way with a sweep of his arm.

“I’m afraid Mor won’t be here until later in the week, as she’s dealing with some official business,” he said conversationally. I was surprised at the pang of sadness I felt. Maybe she was offended I never wrote to her, and was staying away, though it hadn’t been for lack of trying. 

I thought briefly about telling Rhys that, but decided against it. The last thing I needed was for him to disappear back to the Spring Court and start a fight with Tamlin.

“Feyre?”

“Hmm?” I blinked, returning from the train of thought I’d been pulled to. 

“I asked if you were alright after what happened the other day, what I felt through the bond…” he said carefully, his amethyst eyes full of something like fear, or worry.

“Oh, yes… thank you again,” I said, grateful that I was too tired to blush.

He stopped, tugging my hand gently to turn me to face him. “What happened that made you that afraid? You haven’t been that scared since…” 

I flinched, pressing my lips together. I didn’t want to think about it, or what had happened Under the Mountain.

“It was nothing.” I shrugged again, turning to continue down the hall.

“Feyre…” Rhys stopped me, turning my chin with his finger so I had to meet his gaze. “I’ve barely felt anything from you this past month. Sometimes I tugged on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. Then one night I’m in an important meeting, and I feel utter terror blast down the bond. I catch a glimpse of you and him, and then... nothing. And later you asked me for the music… What happened?”

I wanted to kick myself for that moment of weakness, for asking him for help. Of course he would interrogate me over what had happened. 

“It was just an argument and I needed the distraction. Why do you care?” The words carried less bite than I wanted them to, perhaps because they were nothing but flasehoods.

“Because, Feyre. You were doing alright all things considered when you left my Court, and now you look like a fucking ghost. What are they doing to you there? Doesn’t anyone seem to notice, or give a shit?” he demanded. Guilt and sadness and anger washed through me, followed by a wave of exhaustion. 

“I would like to eat, or go to my room,” I said quietly. Rhys ground his teeth for a moment longer, a muscle twitching in his jaw, then we continued to the dining room without a word. 

He pulled my chair out for me silently, and we began piling food on our plates.

“I was hoping we would spar later, since Cassian is busy today,” he said, his voice an attempt at levity. “I wanted to see if you could kick my ass yet like you promised to a long time ago.” 

I felt the barest flicker of humour, but I just shrugged, too tired to think about fighting. “Maybe another time.”

Shadows curled like smoke over Rhys’ hands, which were pressed flat against the table. I could have sworn the mountain rumbled beneath us. 

“I suppose it’s inappropriate for brides-to-be to engage in such behaviour. Much better to spend your days picking out laces and fabrics,” he bit out, and I froze.

“What?” Anxiety slammed into my chest, my heart giving a lurch.

“I heard a rumour that the Lord of Spring has chosen his future wife and wedding plans are fully underway,” Rhys said, and his voice would have been casual if not for the undercurrent of icy rage.

My fists clenched, shaking slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said stiffly, feeling like a rug had just been ripped out from under me. 

“All the Courts are talking about it. The High Priestesses are besides themselves with joy,” he crooned, and I felt the blood leech from my face. Ianthe.

“It’s not true,” I snarled as anger, hot and poisonous filled my chest. That lying, scheming, conniving _bitch_. 

“But why wouldn’t you? Isn’t Tamlin every female’s dream? So protective, and strong, always watching… over, I mean,” Rhys taunted, the shadows writhing and forming into talons. 

_“_ Shut up,” I seethed.

“I’m sure you’ll be so happy, so busy in your new role that you’ll be simply _drowning_ in parties and fabrics,” he taunted.

I leapt out of my seat, glowering at him. Without a word, I turned on my heel and left. I didn’t have to listen to this. I didn't have to listen to any of it.

Halfway down the hall, Rhys caught up to me. “Now, now, Feyre, is that any way for the future High Lady of the Spring Court to act? Oh, but I forgot, Tamlin doesn’t believe in such things,” he said, shaking his head mockingly.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” I hissed, rounding on him.

“I’m sure you’d like to, Feyre, but I don’t take anyone’s seconds, least of all that flowery prick,” he sneered.

I lunged.

Rhys gave a cry of shock that turned to a groan of pleasure as my teeth latched onto his neck, his back hitting the wall from the momentum of my attack. For one long moment I snarled in satisfaction, something deep-seated in my gut pleased that I had enforced my will, enforced my boundaries. Rhys shuddered, one of his hands threading through my hair, the other gripping my hip, pulling me tighter against him.

My brain finally caught up to my body and I let go, shoving away from him. My eyes were wide as the taste of him crashed through me, filling me with heat and pleasure. The memory of how his bite had felt on Calanmai flashed through me like an echo.

What the hell had I just done?

Rhys’ pupils were blown, almost completely taking up the violet of his irises as he stared at me, chest heaving. 

“I—I…” I stuttered, my mind completely blank as I staggered back another step. I could taste blood on my lips.

Oh, Cauldron. I had drawn his blood.

“Are you going to marry him?” he asked, his voice guttural as he glared at me, back still pressed against the wall.

“What do you care?” I snapped, feeling less guilty for having bit him. It was fair turnabout, really.

“Are you?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hands trembling as something inside of me wanted more. Wanted to bite him, taste him again. What was wrong with me?

“It’s none of your business,” I hedged, glaring at him as I backed away. He pushed off the wall, stalking towards me, slowly. Deliberately. Matching me step for step.

My body drew up tight as now I was the one with my back pressed against a stone column. Shadows writhed at his shoulders, as if those great wings were trying to come into existence. 

“ _Are you?_ ” he snarled, flashing those slightly elongated canines at me. My shoulder throbbed where he’d bitten me, and I whimpered, my chin tilting to the side without my consciously doing it at the raw dominance, the power in his voice. The Fae part of me responding to him against my will, I realized distantly.

“No,” I gasped. Rhys leaned in close, his eyes amethyst flames as his tongue darted out, tasting his blood on my lips.

 _I want to watch you_ —

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, tugging the collar of my shirt down until it exposed the place he had bitten me before. Heat pooled between my thighs, my breasts tightening as he ghosted his lips over the skin of my shoulder, then scraped it with his teeth. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Feyre,” he growled in his deep lover’s purr that vibrated all the way in my chest, and it took everything inside of me not to moan at the sound. I should have been pushing him away, I should have slapped him and ran, but all I could think of was wanting his thigh between my legs, wanting to ride it to completion and have him sink his teeth into my shoulder again.

_So beautiful. So perfect when you—_

The walls of my core clenched at the thought, and I watched Rhys’ nostrils flare as he pulled back to meet my gaze, the violet almost completely obscured by black in his eyes as he no doubt scented the need crashing through me. His warm breath ghosted over my lips, the scent of bergamot and ocean overwhelming me. My breath caught in my chest.

“Welcome back, Feyre,” he murmured, and pushed away, striding away down the hall without a backward glance.

My knees buckled when he was out of sight and I slid to the floor, trying to slow my erratic heartbeat. The noise he’d made when I’d bitten him echoed in my mind relentlessly, and I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, feeling exhaustion swamp over me.

What was I doing?

After several long minutes of wallowing in self pity and loathing, I finally hauled myself back up and returned to the dining room. I filled up my plate and carried it back to my room, grumbling all the while. If Rhysand thought he could play these games with me then so be it. That didn’t mean I had to rise to his taunts, his machinations.

I ate in silence as I sat on the divan near the fireplace, glaring out at the mountains. My skin was overly sensitive, every brush of fabric against it felt uncomfortable. I couldn’t shake the damned arousal simmering inside of me, like an inferno on the edge of igniting. It made me angry that I couldn’t control it, couldn’t suppress it. 

No matter how much I ate, or how much wine I drank, I couldn’t get the taste of him from my mouth. He’d tasted of jasmine and starlight, as wild and untamed as the ocean. It sparkled like embers in my veins, throwing me off-balance. I thought of little else for hours.

I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the day, and Rhys didn’t come to bother or taunt me. I tried bathing, napping, reading. I even tried doing some of the stretches Cassian had taught me, but nothing worked. I was restless, and irritated, but I didn’t trust myself to leave my room. Didn’t know what I would do, and that frightened me.

Nuala and Cerridwen came to summon me to dinner, but I declined, and begged them to bring dinner to my rooms instead. They hesitated for only a moment, before bowing and leaving as silently as they came.

I ate what they brought, my stomach cramping from being unused to consuming so much food, but I needed the distraction, needed to get the other taste out of my mouth that was slowly driving me insane. 

The numbness I had been drifting along in during the last few weeks at the Spring Court had burned away like mist in the sunlight. Anxiety flipped in my chest as I paced in my rooms, my fingers clenching and unclenching into fists.

I wouldn’t do what I’d done the last time I’d felt this restless here. Cauldon only knew if Rhys had _known_ , and I couldn’t… not after today…

I tossed and turned on the bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. I couldn't keep my mind from drifting to dangerous thoughts, thoughts of hazy, lust-filled looks exchanged while dancing, the moans of pleasure I’d heard twice now, the midnight fire of his gaze while he’d watched me as I'd…

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I buried my face in the pillow. _Stop thinking about it. Stop. Stop. Stop_.

Wearily, I stared out at the stars, wondering at the hole I kept steadily digging myself into, and how long it could really last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D you promised no pitchforks
> 
> i know i know, i'm such a horrible tease, but come on. Rhys is my kindred spirit, can you blame me? ;)
> 
> he shows her something like this with the music:  
> https://envato-shoebox-0.imgix.net/b9fa/21db-b7c2-48c4-adf2-38533279e60f/DSC_9698+50.jpg?auto=compress%2Cformat&fit=max&mark=https%3A%2F%2Felements-assets.envato.com%2Fstatic%2Fwatermark2.png&markalign=center%2Cmiddle&markalpha=18&w=1600&s=b4648fd02a0db4cef97bea879cbf12ae
> 
> so pretty ;-;


	17. Fledgling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tadaaaa  
> thank you guys for your patience. this week was very hectic with work and my ADHD paired with my wonderful, loving boyfriend making a habit of interrupting me every five minutes made writing a little difficult! He's gone on a 2 week work trip now so I will have plenty of uninterrupted hermit writing time!!
> 
> enjoy!

A soft knock on my door woke me, and I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. Since when did Alis bother waking me up anymore?

_ Knock, knock, knock, knock. _

“It’s too early, Alis,” I grumbled, pulling one of the pillows over my head to muffle the intruding noise.

“Strange, I don’t remember my name being Alis. What about you, Cas?”

My eyes shot wide and I bolted upright in bed, staring at the two large Illyrian males standing in my doorway. 

Rhysand had his wings out, and both he and his General were beholding my rumpled, bleary-eyed state with no small amount of amusement. 

“Nope, not one of my many nicknames,” Cassian chirped, striding over to my bedside before plopping down, ruffling my tangled hair. “Good to see you, little sister.”

I didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered worriedly over my too-thin form, and I fought the hot wash of shame that welled up inside me. I had tried to train like he’d asked. I really had. I didn’t want to see the pity and disappointment in his eyes.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, watching Rhys warily as he rounded the end of the bed, until he could sit on my other side, effectively boxing me in.

“We thought some fresh air would do you good. You up for some flying?” Cassian grinned, flexing his wings proudly. My brows rose almost to my hairline.

“Flying...?”

“That is what Illyrians do, Feyre darling,” Rhys grinned, grabbing my big toe through the blankets between his thumb and forefinger and wiggling it teasingly. I made a face, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he held me fast, his grin turning mischievous. 

“We also came to tell you you can’t say no, and that we’re leaving in ten minutes,” Cassian said, winking as he patted my blanket-covered knee.

“Thanks so much for asking,” I groused, trying and failing to kick Rhys, who pouted at me. He seemed completely unfazed by what had occurred between us yesterday, and I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed or relieved. I certainly still felt off-kilter just having him this near, and on my bed no less.

“You got it. Ten minutes, be dressed and ready to go!” Cassian said, and bounded back to the doorway. Rhys gave my toe one more obnoxious wiggle before leaving, neatly dodging a pillow I threw at his head and his snicker drifted back to me. 

I stared at the door they’d closed behind them, at a loss for words. The entire interaction couldn’t have taken longer than two minutes, but it had been more disorienting than a whirlwind.

I flopped back onto the pillows, contemplating telling them where exactly they could shove those damned wings, when a low laugh filtered through the wood of the door.

“Nine minutes, Feyre.”

“ _ ‘Nine minutes, Feyre,’ _ ” I mocked under my breath, making a face at the door, but I couldn’t deny that through the fog of exhaustion, a part of me was intrigued by the idea of flying. 

I freshened up, and dressed in the Illyrian leathers that had been left neatly folded in my wardrobe, trying not to think about how much looser they felt than last time. I opened the door with a few minutes to spare, and Cassian swept me up into a bone-crushing hug.

“I was beginning to think you’d never get out of bed!”

“I’m early,” I pointed out dryly. Rhys gave a snort very unbecoming of a High Lord. 

We walked back to the Veranda I usually trained on, and Rhys gestured for me to sit down on one of the low-slung chairs.

I frowned, but did as he asked. “What?” 

“I think after you just spent all of that time combing your hair you wouldn’t want your efforts to go to waste, hmm?” he said with a rakish grin, moving behind me. He began gathering up my hair with his warm fingers, scraping his nails gently along my scalp as he separated it. I stiffened, ignoring the chills his touch caused. And the fact that I did not mind the pleasant sensation. 

His fingers were gentle and sure as they methodically braided my hair from the crown of my head, pulling in more pieces as he went until all of it was pulled away from my face and secured down. No one had ever done my hair for me. I couldn’t even recall a single memory of my mother’s touch in my hair. That fact ached more than I wanted to acknowledge.

“You can braid hair?” I asked, unable to turn my head to stare at him in surprise. Instead, I watched Cassian casually play with one of the numerous blades he kept strapped to his person. 

“Of course, what kind of High Lord would I be if I couldn’t braid hair?” Rhysand teased. I gritted my teeth, the back of my neck prickling as the sound of his deep voice rumbled right behind my ear. It felt far too intimate when I couldn’t see him and he was carding his fingers soothingly through my hair. 

“Where did you learn?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

“My mother taught me, so I could braid my sister’s hair before she went flying, if she was ever unavailable,” Rhys answered softly. I didn’t miss the flash of tender sadness that crossed Cassian’s face.

My heart flipped. I hadn’t even known Rhys had had a sister. I remembered the same sad look in Cassian’s eye when I’d asked about Rhys’ mother, and my chest gave another, painful squeeze. My instincts told me that tale was not one that ended happily.

“Oh,” I whispered, swallowing past the sudden knot in my throat. 

He tied off the braid with a stretchy circle of fabric, and I ran my hand gently over it, my fingers bumping along the smooth ridges. I could almost picture it in my mind.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling guilty for bringing up an obviously grief-stricken memory. 

Rhys squeezed my shoulder gently, before rounding the chair and sizing up his work with an appraising eye. 

“It’s been a century, but my talent is, as always, impeccable,” he sniffed, and even though his attempt at humour lightened the mood, I could still see the deep shadows of sadness in his eyes. 

“Remind me and Az to ask you to braid our hair more often, Rhys,” Cassian made a show of brushing his shoulder length locks back that weren’t tied up in a bun at the back of his head.

“Remind me to vomit if you ever ask me that again,” Rhys said dryly, and held his hand out to me to help me up from the chair. I don’t know why, but I took it, feeling a jolt run through me as his warm fingers curled around mine. 

“I’m going to carry you as we fly, but a few rules first,” Rhys said, walking us to the edge of the veranda. My heart began pounding for a very different reason as I stared down at the dizzying drop, my stomach doing several flips.

“First rule, don’t look down,” Rhys whispered right in my ear, making me jump.

“Ass!” I hissed, slapping his arm, but I still took a healthy step back from the edge. 

“Well, don’t look down unless you feel like you’re not going to hurl your breakfast up,” Cassian said with a grin. 

“I didn’t eat breakfast yet,” I grumbled.

“We know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Ah, so it had been deliberate. I suppose I should be thankful they were thinking ahead for my dignity. 

“ _ Second _ rule,” Rhys interrupted, leveling a wry scowl at Cassian. “Hold on tight.”

I gulped, my palms beginning to sweat. “Anything else?”

Rhys shook his head, opening his arms with a crooked smile. I looked between him and Cassian hesitantly, and decided that my unfortunately, best bet was not going to be with the energetic male, at least for the first time.

Rhys flared out one of his wings, curling it around my back to pull me closer. 

“Come on, we’re burning daylight,” he said. I could see the excitement, the almost boyish eagerness spark in his violet eyes, and it made something flip in my chest as I felt the warm, heavy weight of his arms circle around me, holding me tight. Oh, Cauldron, he was bracing me for take-off. Why did I agree to this? What was I thinking —

A scream lept from my throat as we shot into the sky, faster than an arrow. I flung my arms around his neck, holding on with a death grip as the sense of weightlessness hit me, and I watched mountain and stone and sky rush past in a dizzying array of colour.

His free arm slipped under my knees, pulling me to his chest as he wheeled through the air, catching updrafts one moment, then diving low. Cassian gave out a loud whoop, the boom of his wings quickly following Rhys’ as we raced through the mountains.

I couldn’t close my eyes, even though they watered with the speed of the wind. I stared, captivated by Rhys’ wings as they moved with steady, powerful strokes, propelling us along effortlessly. He and Cassian were like forces of nature—crafted and honed for this one purpose.

I heard Rhys’ low chuckle in my ear. “I’d expected a little more screaming from you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I gasped, my arms tightening around him as my stomach flew into my throat after a particularly steep drop. The valleys between the mountains raced past us like rivers of green and dark ochre, sunlight glinting off of lightning cracks of blue that I realized were streams cutting through the forests. I tilted my head back, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, and for the first time in my life I felt… 

Free.

_ Look, _ I heard Rhys’ voice in my mind, and he directed my attention to where Cassian had pulled ahead of us, looking back at me expectantly. Once we’d made eye contact, a wicked grin split across his face, and he snapped his wings in, plummeting to the earth in a tight spiral.

The wind tore the gasp from my lips, but after a heart-stopping moment, he snapped his wings open, and banked sharply up, performing a perfect somersault in the air. 

A shocked laugh bubbled up in my chest as I watched him perform a series of complicated aerial maneuvers, playing with the air as effortlessly as fish swam in the sea. The smile felt foreign on my face, but I couldn’t help it. 

_ I wish I had wings,  _ I said to Rhys ruefully. His arms tightened around me, and I glanced back at him in question.

_ Are you feeling brave?  _ He asked, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. My stomach performed a nervous flip, but I felt more awake, more alive now than I could remember feeling in months. 

I bit my lip, only hesitating for a moment.  _ Yes. _

_ Hold on tight. _

I only had a moment to breathe before Rhys snapped his wings in, and we began to spiral just as Cassian had.

I couldn’t help it, I screamed as we fell, but it was a breathless, excited sound. Rhys snapped his wings out after the weightlessness of the fall, and led us into a graceful, arcing loop. The sky stretched before us for a moment, endless and blue, before the mountains came into view from above. The effect of seeing them upside down was so strange that I laughed in wonderment. I had never thought anything like this would ever be possible in all my life, and yet here I was, wheeling miles above the ground like a bird. It was magical.

The force of the turn pressed me closer to his warm, hard chest, and I let myself cling to him tighter, just this once, breathing in his bergamot and ocean scent. 

We followed Cassian in great, lazy sweeps and turns, spiraling closer and closer to the ground until we neared a great waterfall cascading down the rock face in a thin ribbon. The fall tumbled down in great billowing clouds of mist into a pool so clear I could see the rocks at the bottom, and little silvery fish darting back and forth. 

We finally touched down beside it, the landing as smooth as the take-off. Rhys gently lowered my legs, but held me for a few moments longer when my knees buckled at the adjustment to being back on solid ground. Once I’d gotten my bearings, he let me step away, but not before my cheeks heated at his proximity. I pushed the thought of what had happened the day before from my mind, turning to study our new surroundings with an interest that was only a little too keen. 

There was a wild, untamed feel to the place that was oddly... calming. I found myself taking deep, gulping breaths of the crisp mountain air that smelled of pine and snow, mouldering leaves and wild sagebrush. I couldn’t get enough of it. I loved every part of it with an intensity that caught me off-guard. 

Cassian strode over to a large granite boulder, and leaned against it to pull his boots off. 

“I hope you packed something good for us,” he said to Rhys, who rolled his eyes before waving his hand. A blanket and a basket fell onto the ground, as well as a few cloth-covered parcels that smelled suspiciously like fresh-baked bread.

“Don’t worry, Cassian. I even brought you a pig to eat all on your own,” he deadpanned, and gestured for me to sit. 

Rhys had indeed brought an entire smoked ham, as well as roasted duck, soft cheese with fig jam, strawberries, warm brown bread with rich whipped butter, and honey-soaked apples. My stomach growled appreciatively at the tempting spread, and we eagerly dug in. Rhys handed me a mug of warmed apple cider, and I hid a small smile as I took a big draught.

I took a break from eating when my stomach protested being filled too much and too quickly, listening to Rhys and Cassian’s idle conversation about a sport that seemed popular among the Illyrians. There were mostly pine trees surrounding the pond, but the few birch, maple, and ash that had ventured this far up into the mountains were displaying their colours in brilliant arrays of oranges, reds, and yellows. I idly wondered if it was anything like how Lucien’s original home looked.

“Why is it Autumn if we’re in the Night Court?” I asked in a lull in the conversation, and Cassian gave a loud chuckle.

“We here in the Night Court, unlike  _ some _ , remain unafraid of change and adapting.”

Rhys rolled his eyes at his General’s dramatics. “My ancestors and I simply liked the natural course of things. Why keep things stagnant if they’re meant to change?” He picked up a fallen crimson leaf, twirling it between his fingers. “The warmth of summer is made all the more sweeter for the chill of winter, and the moon’s light is lovely because it’s soft and graceful compared to the brilliance of day. If you had too much of one thing it would grow boring, and stale.” 

Cassian play-acted at fanning himself, and Rhys whacked him between the eyes with a well-aimed acorn.

“What? That was the most poetic thing you’ve said in centuries,” Cassian laughed, batting his eyes at Rhys. I bit my lip, trying to keep a neutral face.

“Just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon—”

A scuffle broke out, and I shook with silent laughter as the two Illyrians began wrestling. They really were like two brothers. 

“And to think, I was told to stay away from you ‘blood-thirsty, murderous bastards’,” I scoffed, popping another slice of cheese slathered with fig jam into my mouth. 

“I beg your pardon, I may be a bastard, but I’d hardly call myself  _ murderous _ ,” Cassian laughed, poking his head up from where Rhys had him in a choke hold. “Everyone I’ve killed deserved it!”

“Oh, but of course,” I capitulated, raising my hands. Rhys flashed me a grin so brilliant and handsome that for a moment I could only stare at him, dumbfounded. 

I gave myself a mental shake, regaining my composure as Rhysand and Cassian finally gave in after a few more punches and ear-cuffs. Cassian sat beside me, stealing the next bite of cheese out of my hand, and popped it into his mouth. I scowled, slapping his hand away as he went for another on my plate. He relented with a pout, but in the next moment drew a dagger from one of the many holsters on his chest with a flourish, and presented the handle to me.

I looked at it in confusion, then back at him. “Are you bribing me for cheese?”

He rolled his eyes, offering it to me again. I took it, admiring the cool, heavy weight of the hilt in my fingers. It was a simple blade, with little adornment, but it was sturdy and sharp. A blade made for one purpose, and one purpose only. Killing, and doing it well.

“It’s Illyrian steel. It can open letters, arteries, veins, even doors if used properly,” he rattled off the list as I turned the dagger this way and that, admiring the play of light over the blade. I could see layer upon layer of ripples in the steel, and I marveled at how much skill and time something so small must take to make. 

“I’m going to teach you how to fight with one of these. Swords are great and all, but you won’t always be able to carry one everywhere you go. Daggers, however,” he demonstrated by holding another one of his up to the side of my thigh, then to either side of my calves. “Can be concealed very easily beneath the folds of a dress, or a robe.”

My interest piqued, and I nodded slowly, grasping the meaning behind his words. This was his gift to me, if I couldn’t carry visible weapons or train, he would give me something that could be concealed, but would give me the security of having something on me.

“Alright. Show me how to use it.”

We started slow, still full from our respective breakfasts as Cassian walked me through defense first, showing me different grips and their uses to block attacks. He showed me how to access the dagger easily from different concealed locations on my body, and even explained how some females cut nondescript slits in their skirts so they could reach through and quickly access a hidden blade.

“Don’t dance all on your toes,” Cassian said, pushing me gently back so my weight was recentered. “All three points of the feet planted, arches rolled up, front lower ribs down, dagger up here.” He adjusted me again. “Eyes always on me. If you were on a battlefield I would have gutted you pelvis to throat with that little maneuver.”

I huffed in frustration, glancing over at our audience. Rhys was watching with one eye cracked open, his wings spread wide on the sunniest patch of ground he could find. A few times when I had glanced over at him throughout the training session, he'd had his eyes closed, and his face turned towards the sun, looking completely at peace. His skin was a deep, rich tan now, and the bruised shadows had all but disappeared from beneath his eyes. 

I remembered the amazement I’d felt when I’d seen him on that ledge outside the Mountain, the relief that we had both survived, that after all that he’d done and sacrificed he would once again be able to fly, to be free. The way I'd felt as we flew came back to me, and I realized I truly understood yet another piece of himself that he had sacrificed for fifty years.

“Alright, now let’s talk about offensive techniques.” 

My attention was drawn back to Cassian, and I felt a cold sweat begin to break out over me as he pointed to different access points that could disable or kill depending on the angle of the dagger.

My knuckles were white as they gripped the dagger, and I watched Cassian reach for my wrist to pull me through the motion towards his chest, and my vision began to swim.

_ The solid of thunk of a knife plunging into flesh. Blood. So much blood pouring over my fingertips, hot and slick. _

_ ‘Very good,’ Amarantha said. _

“Feyre?”

I looked up at Cassian’s face, his warm, hazel eyes so similar to the female’s I’d killed. My breaths began to come in short gasps.

_ Cauldron save me. Mother hold me. Guide me to you. _

I heard my name again very distantly, as if it was through water.

_ ‘Oh, don’t look so miserable, Feyre. Aren’t you having fun?’ _

I heard the wet crunch of my bones as they broke over and over, and I whimpered, dropping the dagger as if it had burned me. I staggered back, rubbing my chest as my lungs burned with every breath I tried to draw.

“Feyre,” Cassian said softly, touching my shoulder with a gentleness I didn’t deserve.

“I killed them,” I rasped, my voice broken. 

_ Let me fear no evil. Let me feel no pain _ .

Cassian nodded once. No condemnation, no judgement. Only grim understanding. “I know.”

_ Let me enter eternity. _

A broken sob hitched in my chest. “It should have been me.”

And there it was.

The breath whooshed out of my chest as I finally spoke aloud what had been festering in the deepest depths of my heart.

Darkness filled my vision, but it was not the oppressive, horrible darkness of my cage Under the Mountain. It was soothing, protective. Gentle fingers tilted my chin up and I looked up to meet Rhysand’s amethyst gaze.

I realized he had wrapped his wings around us, a soft cocoon of night. Sunlight filtered through the membranes in webs of gold and red, giving his face a warm glow.

“Don’t you dare think for one second, Feyre Archeron, that what you did was in vain. You saved me. You saved Cassian, and Mor, and every other Fae in Prythian, no matter which Court. You will think of those two Fae for the rest of your life, but don’t let her win,” he murmured, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “That bitch wins if you let yourself fall apart. If you give up. You honour their memory by continuing to fight, by accepting when I asked you for help in the war against Hybern.”

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as he cupped my face in his hand, the other resting on the small of my back, a warm, steady presence. 

“I never wanted any of this,” I whispered, my voice cracked and raw. Rhys gave me a soft, sad smile, nodding in understanding.

“And yet you continue on. I can see it in you, Feyre. I see the will to fight, the will to live. You didn’t let poverty and destitution kill you when you were a mortal, and this will not kill you now. Every day you fight you give their deaths meaning, and purpose. If you can't absolve yourself of the guilt, at least know that.”

I leaned my cheek into his hand, squeezing my eyes shut tight. I wanted so badly to believe him.

I blinked at the brightness as Rhys unfurled his wings from around me, and Cassian stepped up beside me, laying a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder. In his other hand, he held the dagger.

I held his steady, kind gaze for a long moment. “How do you deal with it? The death?” I asked, my voice small.

He reached for my hand, turning it so it faced upwards. He pressed the dagger hilt into my palm, closing my fingers around it with his other hand.

“We keep going. So that we may always have something to offer.”

  
  


After Cassian determined that I had mastered the techniques he had taught me, we finished off the food before flying back. The mood had sobered a great deal thanks to my breakdown, but I still watched the passing scenery with rapt attention.

Rhysand and I ensconced ourselves comfortably in the library for more reading and writing lessons. After I’d easily transcribed (after much eye-rolling) the few sentences he wrote for me:  _ Rhysand is interesting, Rhysand is gorgeous, Rhysand is flawless,  _ we moved on to more difficult, nuanced language. 

“What is this?” I exclaimed in dismay, pointing to a long, convoluted word that made my head hurt to look at.

He glanced over from the paperwork he had been reading and responding to. “Pro-phyl-actic.” 

My brows pulled together, and I cast about in my memory to see if I’d ever even used the word.

“What does it mean?”

“It means to prevent... disease or illness, I suppose.” He tapped his finger against his bottom lip, trying to think of a good example. “The healers use it a lot, like what herbs to chew to prevent headaches.  _ Prophylactic _ measures.”

I stared at the word for another long moment, trying to figure out which sounds matched up to which letters. “I’m glad I’m not a healer," I finally sighed. "Their language seems like a whole new level of complex.”

Rhys nodded in agreement, chuckling. “Don’t I know it. I was injured in the war and spent far too much time listening to their droning and driveling on, though I suppose I should have been thankful for their help, and not  _ derisive _ .” He leaned over and wrote the word down under the already half-page long list of words I hadn’t known. “Being disrespectful or contemptuous,” he explained.

“Different from..." I glanced down at the page. "Derived?”

“Yes, that means something that comes from something else. Steel is _derived_ from ore.”

I looked down at the page, chewing my lip for a few moments. “Tamlin was very…  _ derisive _ of your worry about the war against Hybern. He seems convinced there will be no war, and wouldn't even broach the subject with me.”

Rhys scoffed, though he didn’t look surprised in the slightest. “He has a penchant for being an idiot.”

I tapped the paper, and Rhys jotted the word down. 

“Having the tendency to always do something. Tamlin also has a _penchant_ for being a prat.” 

I pressed my lips together, working very hard to keep my expression neutral. “You are  _ incorrigible _ .”

“Thank you,” he purred, waggling his brows at me suggestively. I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time.

Rhys waved his hand, and a platter of lemon cakes appeared before us. I hummed in appreciation, snatching one up and devouring it in a few bites. Rhys watched with amusement, but his brows drew together in confusion.

“Perhaps I should have Nuala write the recipe down, so you can have food you'll actually eat in the Spring Court.”

My face heated, and I fidgeted uncomfortably. I should have known I couldn’t dodge this topic forever.

“A ctually…” I swallowed hard. If I told him, it could never be undone. Something about saying it out loud made it too real, too frightening, but I decided he should probably know. I steeled my resolve, taking a deep breath. “I stopped eating the food there. At least... the food that’s made and served to me.”

Rhys went very still. I could see his knuckles turn white around the pen in his grasp. “Why?”

I tried to wipe my clammy palms on my thighs inconspicuously. “I overheard Ianthe, Tamlin, and Lucien one night,” I said, trying to breathe around the feel of my heart beating in my throat, the sickening anger that still gripped me whenever I thought of it. “Ianthe… they were concerned about my powers manifesting, discussing what to do, and she suggested they use something called Faebane, to suppress them…”

Shadows swirled and gathered at the corners of the room, and I felt chills skitter down my spine. 

“Lucien said absolutely not,” I added quickly. “That it was poison, and then… Tamlin, he—he mentioned that... maybe in small doses—”

“He  _ what. _ ”

The Fae-lights began to dance and sway as the mountain beneath us rumbled and shook. Darkness flecked with stars swirled and pooled into the room, and I stared at Rhys in shock as the irises and whites of his eyes bled into an obsidian so deep, so dark that no light was reflected in them—as if they had become windows into a void. Shadowy talons curved out from his fingers, and I saw the barest hint of midnight scales I had once witnessed ripple over his skin. 

It was the most beautiful, and the most terrifying thing I had ever seen.

“Rhys…” I whispered, resting my hand gently on the clawed hand closest to me, a distant part of me shocked that I wasn’t afraid. The library had almost completely disappeared around us. It was as though we sat suspended in the night sky itself. The shaking quieted as he looked down at my hand on his, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“If he thinks to harm a hair on your head, I’ll rip out his claws and wear them on my crown,” he snarled, his voice otherworldly and guttural. “He’s no different from his bastard father and his bastard brothers.  _ I’ll have his head. _ ”

“It’s okay, Rhys. I’ve been careful not to eat or drink anything they give me,” I insisted, a tiny spark of panic igniting in my chest. Had I just worsened the damage between the two? Had I ignited a war? “It’s okay, Rhys. I’m okay,” I repeated, squeezing his hand gently.

It seemed to help, as his eyes slowly lightened back to their normal, starry amethyst, the whites returning. The darkness in the room began to thin, but it didn’t entirely abate.

“He has a great deal of nerve to think he can get away with this,” Rhys said darkly, his eyes still full of murder. “If he were in my Court he would be under Azriel’s knife this very moment.”

I shuddered. Even though I had yet to meet the shadowy Spymaster, whoever he was, I knew I never wanted to cross him.

“I’m not even sure if they went through with it,” I admitted, but Rhys just shook his head.

“For them to even consider such actions is… it’s unforgivable Feyre. Tamlin should know better. But then again, the apple does not fall far from the tree,” he said, his lip curling in distaste.

“Why…” I started, but my voice cracked. I swallowed, and tried again. “Why do you two hate each other so much, Rhys? You said you used to be friends centuries ago, but… what happened?” 

Rhys’ head dropped, and his eyes became distant, full of pain. “It’s a long story, and not one with a happy ending."

I stayed silent, waiting patiently for him to begin.

Finally, he took a deep breath as if preparing for the plunge, and began. “We were friends, once. A long time ago. I came to trust Tamlin when we were younger, stupid males. We met and got to know each other over the course of several court gatherings and meetings —t wo sons of bastard High Lords who wanted something different for their Courts than the same cycle of hatred and distrust.

“One day I told him I was heading to the Illyrian camps to meet with my mother and sister who were traveling there. We were both tired of battle, tired of bloodshed, and I was eager to go home. He let it slip to his fathers and brothers that I was heading there to meet them.”

My skin prickled with gooseflesh, my stomach twisting into a painful knot.

“I decided to stay at another location in my Court before going to meet them. I should have gone —” His fists clenched as despair filled his voice. “Tamlin’s father and brothers intercepted them. They had been expecting to find me, but when I wasn’t there…”

I shut my eyes, a single tear rolling down my cheek. Rhysand was quiet for so long, I thought he was done his story. But then he spoke.

“Their heads were sent in boxes down the river to the nearest camp. And their wings…” His voice was barely a ragged whisper now. “Tamlin’s father tore off their wings, and hung them up in his study for display.” 

Nausea roiled through me. The same study I had spent countless hours with Tamlin, talked to him,  _ touched _ him…

“My father’s rage was unlike anything I had ever seen. My  _ own _ rage…” he shook his head, gritting his teeth. “We went to the Spring Court and slaughtered Tamlin’s brothers on sight. I broke his father’s mind, then my father and I ripped him to shreds. He went upstairs to kill Tamlin next, and I tried to stop him…

“When Tamlin opened the door and saw the blood, smelled whose it was… he killed my father on sight. The power of the High Lords moved into us in that moment and we just... stared at each other. I winnowed out with my father’s body, without a backward glance. We have been bitter enemies ever since.”

I shivered, swallowing around the hard knot in my throat. So much blood and violence. Tamlin had made it seem like his family had been slaughtered, unprovoked... 

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, and I realized I had been gripping his hand so hard my knuckles were white. I slowly uncurled my aching fingers, but he turned his hand, threading his fingers through mine. I didn’t protest.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what happened, that I don’t wish it had gone differently, but…” he sighed, his eyes suddenly ancient, weary. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my mother and sister. That I don’t wish I could see their smiles again, hear their laughs one more time… It’s my fault they were undefended. It's my fault any of it happened.”

I shook my head automatically, gripping his hand tightly once more.

“No.”

He blinked, taken aback by the fury in my voice. 

I met his starry, amethyst gaze, as if I could impress the truth of my words upon him. “It’s not your fault, Rhysand.”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off again.

“It’s not your fault.”

The moment drew out, and he finally nodded, brushing his thumb over mine in a gesture that was more easy and comfortable than it should have been.

“Thank you, Feyre,” he murmured. 

I lay awake that night staring up at my ceiling, wondering how everything had turned so upside down. 

I turned over, staring at the Illyrian dagger that lay on my nightstand. I still felt guilty and sick over what I’d done Under the Mountain, but a part of me was grateful that Rhys kept reeling me back from the edge. His words from this afternoon echoed in my mind. Maybe it hadn’t been in vain. I would remember their faces for the rest of my life, but… I could give their deaths purpose. I could fight for Prythian once more. Though, how I was supposed to do that only one week out of every month was beyond me. 

I shied away from that train of thought. It felt too much like betrayal. Things would get better. Tamlin’s fear would ease, and we could finally begin to work as a team, though... I knew I couldn't stall forever in giving my answer to Tamlin's proposal. It hunt above my head like a sword—always there in the back of my mind, the thread it was tethered to fraying thinner and thinner with every passing day. 

Something would have to be done about Ianthe, I thought darkly. If she was spreading lies as another way to force me into a choice, to back me into a corner, and control me, she would learn just how wrong she was to assume I was without teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo poetic, Rhys i’m swooning! Be still my beating heart - cassian, probably
> 
> i hope u enjoyed the fluff ❤️
> 
> https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMekh8scg/  
> Also I saw this as I was editing this chapter today and cried so here u go enjoy ❤️


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